


a hand to hold (take me home)

by theartofbeinganerd



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And There Still Manages to be Fluff, Background TripDaisy - Freeform, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Oh is There Ever Pining, Pining, Police Officer AU, Some depictions of violence, The FitzDaisy Brotp is Strong, lots of cameos, though it's not really graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-16 08:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartofbeinganerd/pseuds/theartofbeinganerd
Summary: When Officer Leo Fitz and his partner Daisy Johnson happen upon a bloodied crime scene, it's to soon discover that a serial killer is on the loose and terrorizing the small town they've sworn to protect. The one bright spot in the darkness, however, is Dr. Jemma Simmons; as the case grows more and more disturbing with each passing day, Fitz finds himself relying on Jemma's sunny smile and warm heart to get him through it all.And, he may just be falling in love with her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Take Me Home by Jess Glynne (which is actually perfect for this story omg)
> 
> So, this is a fic I started quite some time ago - I actually had to change over from Skye to Daisy halfway through, if that tells you anything. True crime shows are a bit of a staple in my family, and while watching one of them one night, I got the idea for this fic, and I finally finished it recently. It's been an experience for me writing this, as it's very different from what I consider my "wheelhouse" with fic writing, so hopefully it's alright! 
> 
> **This chapter features some depictions of violence, though it's not very graphic and is pretty brief; however, this fic often features talk of homicide and other crimes, and if that is triggering in any way or something you don't think you can handle, I'd suggest you tread lightly or skip this fic completely.

Fitz stared unseeingly through the windshield, his fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the steering wheel as he listened to the static from the radio, waiting for the call that would give them something to do instead of just sitting there wasting the night away. Then again, perhaps in his line of work, having nothing to do was something he should be thankful for – his feelings on the subject tended to change from day to day.

He glanced up when the door opened and Daisy slid back into the passenger seat, grinning at him and shaking the paper bag in her hand excitedly. “I’ve got doughnuts,” she announced unnecessarily as she slammed her door shut behind her.

Fitz leveled an exasperated look at his partner. “Why do you insist on enforcing that stereotype, Daisy?”

She passed him his frosted doughnut, but not without pairing it with a rather impressive roll of her eyes. “Um, because it’s an excuse to eat an alarming amount of doughnuts? I thought you of all people could appreciate that.”

He sighed, but still took a bite out of the pastry in his hand. Around a mouthful of it, he pointed out, “The more we eat doughnuts, the harder it’s going to get to chase suspects down.”

Daisy scoffed at him, spraying crumbs of jelly doughnut over her uniform. “Speak for yourself, Fitz. You do remember that I’m dating a health nut, right?”

“Ah, so you’re trying to fatten me up then.” Fitz finished off his doughnut, brushing the crumbs off of his lap and setting a mental note to clean the car soon, given that it wasn’t technically _his_ car.

“You _are_ getting a bit pudgy, aren’t you?” Daisy observed thoughtfully.

“Wha – _pudgy_?” he repeated, aghast as he glanced down at himself. Upon hearing Daisy’s snickers, he shot a glare at her and snapped, “I am _not_ pudgy.”

“Whatever you need to say, Fitzy.” Daisy gave him a teasing punch to the arm, shooting a smirk at him as he rubbed the spot exaggeratedly.

Fitz didn’t bother to respond, grumbling to himself and sinking down in his seat, settling in for a long night of Daisy harassing and poking fun at him. Far from the first time, he stewed over the fact that out of _everyone_ , he couldn’t believe that he’d been partnered with _Daisy_.

Before he could get to the part of his brooding where he wondered why the universe had it out for him, the radio crackled to life. “ _Unit 616, do you copy?_ ”

Fitz had just barely exchanged a glance with Daisy before she was grabbing for the receiver. “Unit 616, we copy.”

“ _Possible 459 at 137 Park Street._ ”

“We’re on it,” Daisy informed them breezily as Fitz put the car in drive and threw on the lights and siren as they headed out of the parking lot. As she replaced the receiver, she raised her eyebrows at him. “If they run for it, want me to chase ‘em down? Don’t wanna have you start huffing and puffing and let them get away.”

Fitz gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and replied dryly, “Ha ha. Very funny.”

Daisy was almost inhumanly good at keeping her cool when they were responding to a call, and Fitz knew that it stemmed from the fact that she was secure in the knowledge that this was what she’d always wanted to do. She’d informed him during the beginning of their partnership that she’d decided a long time ago that she wanted to dedicate her life to helping people. He very much envied the fact that she’d found what she wanted to do with her life and followed it through.

Fitz hadn’t been afforded that kind of luxury – the very last thing he’d wanted growing up was to be a police officer. But, his father had been one all his life and just couldn’t bear for his only son (and only child) to do anything but follow in his footsteps, despite their lack of anything resembling a relationship. Fitz hadn’t been crazy about the idea, given that he’d seen what the job had done to not only his father, but his parents’ marriage, but saying no to his father was a skill he’d yet to perfect.

However, just because he was giving in to his father’s career choice, didn’t mean he wanted to stay under his thumb any longer than he had to. So, after going through the police academy back in Scotland, he’d relocated to America to join a precinct in a relatively small town, rather than join his father’s old one back home like the senior Fitz had intended. The move had given him a bit of breathing room, but Fitz was still more than a little unfulfilled in the career he’d never wanted. And honestly, he still didn’t think he was cut out for it, what with his weak stomach and entirely unintimidating appearance with a confidence to match.

He’d tried to tell his father all of this, of course, but the only responses he’d ever gotten in return were, “You’ll toughen up, boy” or “What does it matter? Cops get all the women – you’ll see”.

Neither made him feel any better.

Finally, they pulled up outside the address, and even through the dark, he could see that the door was open wide, light from inside spilling out onto the front stoop. Fitz turned the car off, pocketing the keys before he slid out and shut the door quietly behind him. He pulled his gun from its holster, meeting Daisy around her side of the car. Together, they crept up the driveway, and she warily peered through the open door.

“Police,” she called, and waited, but there was only silence in response. They exchanged a glance, then slowly entered the residence, guns at the ready.

Only a handful of steps inside, Fitz was hit with the overwhelming scent of iron and he nearly gagged, but he pressed his lips together and forced himself to focus. That smell was _not_ a good sign.

Turning the corner from the entryway into what appeared to be the living room, Fitz’s entire body froze up and his heart lodged itself in his throat. Spread out around room were several bodies, covered in bright red blood. There was so much blood seeping into the carpet, in fact, that Fitz couldn’t tell what color it was actually supposed to be. There were so many glazed, unseeing eyes, heads turned the wrong way, flesh torn to give way to the crimson liquid pouring out, and the worst of all – there was a giant ‘H’ on the far wall, smeared in what he could only assume was the victims’ blood.

“Fitz?” Daisy hissed from behind him, “What is it? You’re blocking the damn door.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Fitz mumbled, stumbling back a few steps and running right into Daisy. She practically had to hold him up as his knees grew weak, and his stomach was turning in a worrying manner. He was about to dart for the door and lose his lunch to the bushes he’d noticed by the steps so he didn’t mess up the crime scene when he saw something frankly amazing.

One of the bodies closest to him, a little girl, her pigtails matted with blood and her Disney princess nightgown barely recognizable as fabric, twitched. Her arm moved weakly, and she turned her head just slightly, blinking at Fitz and Daisy.

“She’s _alive_ ,” he gasped out, darting unthinkingly right into the living room to squat down beside her. “Just hold on, we’re going to get you help.”

“Alive?” he just barely heard Daisy murmur, seconds before her shocked gasp. “Oh my _god_. We…we… Fitz, we have to make sure this place is clear.”

Fitz almost argued with her, not wanting to leave the girl alone, but he knew that she was right. Regardless, he still pulled his radio from his belt and called in, “This is Unit 616, we have multiple 10-54s; 11-41.”

The response was almost immediate. “ _Unit 616, backup and ambulance on their way.”_

“Copy.” Fitz replaced his radio, and then told the girl gently, “I’ll be right back, just stay awake for me, okay?”

The little girl blinked a couple times, then gave him a tiny, clearly painful nod. Fitz rose to his feet and glanced at Daisy, noting the way that her face had gone deathly pale as she surveyed the room. Silently, she gestured to the door to their right, and Fitz nodded, following her lead.

The kitchen, bathroom and both downstairs bedrooms were clear, along with the first bedroom upstairs. However, in the back bedroom, they found two more young children, and a quick feel for a pulse showed that they were already gone. Fitz noticed Daisy gripping her gun a bit tighter before she replaced it in her holster, the residence clear of whoever had committed such a massacre.

“We should check all the others downstairs for pulses,” Daisy said, already heading out of the room and for the stairs. Fitz was quick to follow, but their search for life proved fruitless, save for the too young girl still clinging desperately to consciousness.

What seemed like hours – but in reality was mere minutes – later the paramedics arrived, and Fitz dimly registered that Trip, Daisy’s boyfriend, was the one that gently pushed him away from the girl so that they could transfer her to the gurney. Fitz’s eyes locked on the girl as they began pushing the gurney toward the door, and he flinched when he felt a firm hand land on his shoulder.

“Hey, you should go with them, keep us updated. I’ll wait for Coulson,” Daisy told him gently.

Fitz frowned, his gaze flicking from Daisy to where Trip had disappeared through the front door. “But…don’t you…”

Daisy gave his shoulder a squeeze, a small, forced smile curving her lips. “You go, Fitz. You’re already as white as a sheet – after everything else I’ve seen tonight, I don’t want to add that doughnut in reverse to the list.”

Normally, Fitz would’ve responded with a glare, but all he could manage was a quiet, “Okay,” before following the other EMT outside from where he’d been double-checking the others for any signs of life. He sat in back with Trip, and tried his very hardest not to see the poor, possibly dying little girl in front of him but it was nearly impossible. Her weak, ragged breaths kept drawing his attention back to her.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Fitz got out of Trip’s way, allowing him and his partner to rush the girl inside. He stepped down from the truck and took a deep breath of the chilly night air, shoving his shaking hands through his hair and closing his eyes. But, all he could see was the horrifying carnage he’d walked in on, as though the images were seared into the backs of his eyelids.

After awhile, though, he had to give up and go inside, given that the rapidly cooling night air was starting to burn his lungs from all of the deep breathing. He was vaguely familiar with the layout of the emergency room, and quickly found the waiting room, sinking into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs to wait for news.

All he could think about was this family that had gone to sleep, thinking they were safe and sound in their home, and someone had come inside and taken that from them, not mention their _lives_. They’d carelessly wandered right in and brutally murdered people that had done nothing to warrant such an awful end. It just wasn’t _fair_.

Fitz dropped his head into his hands, trying to blink back the tears building behind his eyes, but it was no use – the continued images of the slaughtered family refused to leave him alone, and he felt his shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding back his tears.

“Officer?”

He lifted his head quickly at the gentle prodding, and attempted to blink away the wetness in his eyes so that the face of the woman in front of him would become a bit clearer. “Um…yeah?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile, perching on the seat beside him and resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You came in with Sarah Hudson?” When Fitz just stared at her blankly, she added, “The young girl from the multiple homicide?”

“Oh.” Her name was Sarah. Somehow, that made it all the more real for Fitz, and he had to press his lips tight together to keep the next wave of tears at bay. “Yeah. Uh…how is she?”

The woman, who Fitz figured must be the trauma doctor on call tonight, winced, her lips twisting into a frown. “Not good, I’m afraid. She sustained multiple stab wounds – seventeen, if my count was correct – and lost quite a bit of blood. The wounds were precise, and the attacker was obviously skilled, but against all odds she survived.” Then, with a little sigh, she added, “For now, at least.” Giving his shoulder a soft squeeze, she asked gently, “Was this your first crime scene?”

Fitz clenched his fingers around his knees, digging roughly into his skin as he mumbled, “First one with _bodies_ , yeah.”

She sighed, and Fitz just barely noticed her fingers rubbing against his shoulder in soothing, feather-light circles. “I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but it doesn’t. But that sick, disturbed feeling, as though your stomach will never return to its proper place, that’ll fade a bit over time.”

Fitz managed a small, grateful smile. “Thanks…” He trailed off as he realized that the doctor had never introduced herself.

“Oh! Jemma. Jemma Simmons.”

“Thank you, Dr. Simmons.” Fitz rose to his feet, and Jemma’s hand fell away from his shoulder as she stood as well. “And uh…it’s Officer Fitz.” He nodded over his shoulder to the door, already digging around in his pocket for his phone. “I’ve gotta call the chief, let him know what’s going on with…Sarah.”

She nodded in understanding, but as Fitz started to walk away, she called after him, “Officer Fitz!” He paused, glancing back at her in time to see her warm, understanding smile. “If you ever need to talk, my usual shift is five PM to four AM.”

Without waiting for him to respond, Jemma turned and headed back toward the double doors that led into the ER. Fitz couldn’t get his feet to continue their journey outside, though, because as he watched her disappear, he finally registered just how gorgeous Dr. Jemma Simmons actually was – and she was warm and kind and a doctor, to boot.

 _How_ had he not noticed that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 495 - burglary  
> 10-54 - possible dead body  
> 11-41 - ambulance needed
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	2. Chapter 2

The glass doors to the hospital had barely shut behind them when Daisy sidled up to Fitz, elbowing him teasingly in the ribs. “Hello, yes, paging the _loooove_ doctor!”

“Shut _up_ ,” he hissed at her, even as he cursed his pale, pasty skin and how obvious it made the blush creeping up his neck. “I’m never telling you anything anymore.” Really, he didn’t even know why he’d told Daisy about Jemma in the first place – he blamed it on the fact that he couldn’t sleep last night after witnessing that horrific crime scene, and he’d called Daisy, who had been having an equally tough time sleeping. He had just been tired and sick and scared, that had to be it.

“Of course you are, you don’t have any other friends,” Daisy replied easily, clearly not intimidated by his threat.

“We’re not friends,” Fitz grumbled as they came up on the counter where a nurse was sitting, focused intently on her computer, though she glanced up at their approach. “Hello, we were wondering if there was any news about Sarah Hudson?”

The nurse’s lips pulled down into a grim frown, but she nodded regardless. “Just a moment.” She picked up the phone to place a call, and after a couple moments of speaking with the person on the other line, she hung up and told them, “The doctor will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Fitz told her before leading Daisy to the small waiting room off to the side.

Daisy glanced exaggeratedly at the clock on the wall. “Five-thirty – you did say her shift started at five, right? I’m going to be _so_ disappointed if it’s not her, Fitz. Really. I’m going to come in here every day until I meet her.”

Fitz turned to Daisy sharply, his eyebrows darting up his forehead in disbelief. “Jesus _Christ_ Daisy, I said she was pretty, not that you should stalk the poor woman!”

“Hey, you having a crush on a girl gives me full authority to stalk her. I need to find out if she’s good enough for my partner.” Her wide grin faltered just a bit, the twinkle in her eyes dimming as she added in a pathetic attempt at teasing, “If only someone had done the same for me.”

“I did my best,” he sighed, reaching out to place a supportive hand on her knee, giving it a quick squeeze, then retracted his hand. “’Sides, I gave you my full support with Trip.”

Daisy’s grin was back with a vengeance, and Fitz let out a silent breath of relief. “Speaking of, I asked him about the love doctor,” Fitz let out a groan at the horrible nickname, but she ignored him, continuing, “And he said she’s super smart and nice and sweet and I think I already approve, just so you know.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sighing, Fitz slumped a bit in his hard plastic seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Daisy seemed about to go on, but then the doors leading further into the hospital opened, and he stood up automatically. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw Jemma, hair drawn up into a neat ponytail and white coat fluttering behind her as she headed toward them. A smile curved her lips as she caught sight of him, and she held out her hand as she greeted, “Nice to see you again, Officer Fitz.”

Fitz shook her hand, ignoring the way Daisy was practically vibrating with excitement beside him. “Likewise, Dr. Simmons.” He nodded to Daisy, and introduced, “This is my partner, Officer Johnson.”

“Call me Daisy,” Daisy blurted out, holding out her hand to Jemma.

“Then call me Jemma,” Jemma replied warmly, shaking Daisy’s proffered hand then sliding both of her own into the pockets of her coat. “I’m afraid I don’t come with good news.”

All the warmth bubbling up in his chest at the sight of Jemma was dashed through as ice speared his veins. “She’s isn’t…”

“No,” Jemma answered with a sigh, shaking her head. “But, she’s on life-support, and…and honestly, I fear it’s only a matter of time.” She chewed her lip briefly, then asked tentatively, “I’m sorry, but I must admit that I’m curious. Do you have _any_ idea who could have done such a thing?”

Fitz was more than a little distracted by the words ‘ _only a matter of time_ ’ running through his head on repeat, but he attempted to shove it out of his mind as he answered her hesitantly, “We aren’t really allowed to talk about active investigations.”

He noticed Daisy give him a rather pointed roll of her eyes just before she admitted to Jemma, “We think it might have been carried out by multiple assailants, possibly even some kind of cult or gang. I mean, I’m sure you saw those horrible ‘H’s carved into their chests, and there was one on the wall in blood, too.”

Jemma shuddered visibly, her arms coming up to hug herself even as she nodded. “Yes, I certainly saw them.” Fitz almost offered to do… _something_ , to hold her, to comfort her or tell her it was alright – whatever she needed, but he kept it to himself, and a moment later she composed herself. “I can take you to see her, if you’d like.”

Really, the last thing in the world Fitz wanted was to see that poor girl again and have it bring back all the horrible, still-fresh memories from last night, but Daisy accepted for both of them and he was being led into a small hospital room before he knew it. Little Sarah Hudson was resting in the bed, her face now cleaned of blood and her hair no longer in pigtails, and in place of her princess nightgown was a medical gown and far too many bandages.

“How old is she?” Daisy asked softly.

“Six,” Jemma answered, her voice a mere murmur, making it almost impossible to hear over the heart monitor and ventilator hooked up to the little girl.

“ _God_ ,” Daisy mumbled, shaking her head in horror. “I can’t believe someone could do this to _anyone_ , let alone an innocent six-year-old girl.”

“Some people are just born evil,” Jemma replied, and Fitz glanced over to see a firm set to her jaw and her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

Fitz felt that desire once more to say something to try and make her feel better, bring back that beautiful smile she’d bestowed on him a handful of times, but even as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, nothing came to mind.

The silence was broken just then by both his and Daisy’s radios going off, a static-riddled voice demanding that all units respond to a call not far away. Fitz snatched his radio from his belt and answered, “Unit 616, we copy. On our way.” By the time he’d replaced his radio, Daisy was already halfway out the door, and he was quick to follow, but just barely remembered to call to a surprised Jemma over his shoulder, “Thank you, Dr. Simmons.”

He managed to catch a brief glance of her smile before she was out of sight, and the warmth in his chest was back – though it faded once more when he found Daisy waiting impatiently in the car for him, engine already started and sirens already blaring. It took them a matter of minutes to reach the address given in the call, and he spotted Officers Morse and Rodriquez waiting out front, guns already out and held aloft.

“About time,” Elena called to them, arching an eyebrow.

“Coulson wouldn’t let us go in without backup,” Bobbi added, her voice tense.

“Can you blame him?” Fitz asked rhetorically as he pulled his own gun, allowing Bobbi to take the lead as she pushed open the cracked door. She took cautious steps inside, and they’d just barely rounded the corner into the foyer when they entered into a scene horrifyingly similar to the one he and Daisy had found at the Hudson home just last night.

After they’d made sure the house was clear, they were left with the grim task of checking for any sign of life. Unlike last night, inside this home there wasn’t a single soul left breathing. As Bobbi stepped aside to call it in, Daisy turned to Fitz and stated solemnly, “At the very least, we most certainly have a serial killer on our hands.”

Fitz felt his mouth drying up and his stomach twisting with the horror at the idea, his gaze landing on the crimson ‘H’ smeared messily on the wall.

-

After finding two murder scenes in as many days, the rest of the week was suspiciously quiet, and Fitz found himself constantly unsettled, wondering when the killer would strike again – and what they could possibly be doing in the meantime. The answers his mind conjured up were horrifying in their own right, and he tried desperately not to let himself think about it, with varying degrees of success.

It was Friday, and Daisy had texted him that morning, insisting he meet for an early dinner with her and Trip before their shifts started to get all of their minds off of it. Fitz couldn’t find any excuse not to agree, so he found himself meeting Daisy at the restaurant, where she’d selected a booth near the back and frantically waved him over after catching sight of him.

“Hey,” she greeted, arching a concerned brow as he slid into the booth across from her. “You look like shit.”

Fitz scoffed, leveling a dry look at her as he muttered, “Thanks.”

“No, I’m serious.” Daisy frowned, resting her elbows on the table between them to lean in, studying him with narrowed eyes. “Are you still not getting any sleep?”

He shifted a bit in his seat, clearing his throat as he told her, “Daisy, don’t worry about it, alright? I’m sleeping.” Just nowhere near as much as he ought to be, of course; but Daisy didn’t need to be worrying about it when she had so much else on her plate. Besides, he was sure that the haunting crime scene images and nightmares would begin to fade eventually; he just had to wait them out a little while longer. Trying to change the subject, he asked curiously, “Where’s Trip? Why didn’t you come together?”

“Oh, he had to pick something up on his way over,” Daisy answered with a shrug, still eyeing him suspiciously. However, her focus was fortunately diverted then when her gaze darted to the entrance of the restaurant, and she lit up in excitement. “Oh! There he is!”

Fitz craned his head around to catch a glimpse of Trip, and nearly started choking when he spotted none other than _Jemma_ trailing along behind him, laughing at some joke he must’ve just told. What was she…? How did…? What was going _on_?

Then, however, he heard Daisy’s delighted snickers, and with a sudden clarity, he understood that he’d been tricked by Daisy and her (likely quite willing) accomplice Trip. Just as he was bending closer across the table to give Daisy a piece of his mind, Trip slid into the booth beside her effortlessly, draping his arm around her shoulders. Fitz’s eyes darted up to find Jemma, who had clearly noticed him and was gazing back at him in similar surprise as she hovered unsurely at the end of the table.

She seemed to regain her bearings rather quickly though, her eyes flicking to Trip and Daisy, glancing back and forth between them before she smiled. “Oh, _you’re_ Trip’s girlfriend then. It’s nice to finally meet you. Or, well…meet you officially.”

Daisy grinned, pushing at Trip until he got out of the booth and excitedly jumping up to follow him. “Nice to meet you officially too, Jemma. Sit down, and Trip and I’ll go get us each _one_ drink, since there’s apparently something wrong with showing up at work drunk.” She winked at them, then disappeared with Trip.

Jemma sat down in the booth beside Fitz, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, um…how are you, Officer Fitz?”

“Uh, just Fitz is fine,” Fitz corrected, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m…okay, I guess. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, really.”

Jemma’s lips tugged down into a frown as she nodded. “Yes, it’s the moments when everything’s quiet that it’s most worrying, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, absently drumming his fingers against his thigh. He wanted to say something witty or brilliant and make her laugh or at least smile – at the very most, he’d like to make her fall in love with him, but he didn’t think that could be accomplished with one cleverly delivered comment. However, she was so close and he could smell her flowery shampoo and it was making him quite distracted, so they ended up just sitting there in awkward silence.

However, when Daisy and Trip returned and they ordered their food, conversation flowed a bit easier. As the evening went on, Fitz was surprised to find that Jemma was actually very easy to talk to, even to the point that they kept accidentally finishing each other’s sentences. In fact, dinner went quite well – despite Daisy’s seemingly intense desire to embarrass Fitz thoroughly by telling all of her best “Fitz stories” (and it of course didn’t help when an amused Trip joined in).

When they left the restaurant and paused outside before going their separate ways, Daisy wrangled a promise from Jemma to meet them there at the same time tomorrow, and Fitz left feeling practically lightheaded from how amazing Jemma was and with the knowledge that he’d be seeing her again tomorrow. Not even Daisy’s constant teasing could bring him down.

What _could_ bring him down, however, was another victim found slaughtered that night, called in hours later by another unit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a couple of weeks since the Hudson family had been found murdered in their home, and they were still no closer to identifying and _stopping_ whoever could commit such atrocious crimes. Despite their best investigators on the case, however, they had yet to catch a single break – no fingerprints, no DNA that couldn’t be matched to a victim, nothing missing or out of place in any of the crime scenes, and no murder weapons to be found.

Whoever it was, they were scarily skilled, and it was making everyone uneasy; doors and windows were double and triple checked every night, children were given stricter curfews, and it was rare to see anyone outside after dark anymore.

Out of everyone, Coulson seemed to be taking it the hardest, though. He’d had them all on high-alert lately, coming in during their off-hours to check through the case file with fresh eyes or go over old files for something they might’ve missed back then that could be relevant now.

That was exactly where Fitz and Daisy found themselves that day, hunched over stacks and stacks of file folders at the pairs of desks with their nameplates on them. His eyes were already aching from the strain of scanning the tiny, cramped lines of information after so many nights of tossing and turning, but he persevered, hoping to find that one little detail that could help them catch the twisted killer.

“Chinese or Mexican?” Daisy suddenly asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” Fitz glanced up, wincing at the crick in his neck from being bent over for too long. Had they been talking about something and he’d forgotten?

“I said; Chinese or Mexican,” she repeated, setting another unhelpful file aside. “You know, for tomorrow?”

 _Oh_. He’d almost forgotten that Trip and Daisy had planned on having a game night (or day, as it were) the following day, rather than their usual dinner out. And of course, that thought subsequently brought his mind right to the one good thing to come of this whole mess – _Jemma_.

 Ever since that first night when Daisy and Trip had tricked him into a group dinner with Jemma, the four of them had turned it into something of a habit, getting dinner together each night before their respective shifts. As Fitz spent more and more time with Jemma, he found himself becoming increasingly enchanted by her, by her staggering brilliance and caring heart and slightly odd sense of humor and the way her nose crinkled when she laughed.

“Dunno,” Fitz answered with a half-shrug, idly flipping through the pages of the file he was currently skimming. “Whatever everyone else wants is fine.”

Daisy hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I know Trip prefers Chinese, so I’ll just text Jemma and see what she thinks.” She pushed an uneven stack of folders away, searching around on her desk until she’d located her phone. While her thumbs were typing out the message, she smirked and asked teasingly, “Is tomorrow gonna be the day you finally ask her out, Fitzy?”

Fitz groaned, sinking lower in his seat until he was nearly hidden by the stacks of file folders. “Would you quit asking me that? My answer isn’t going to change, alright?”

“I don’t know why. Fitz, she wants to go out with you just as much!” Sighing, she set her phone down and rolled her chair to the side until she could meet his gaze directly around the piles. “Look, Trip and I were talking about it –”

“Of course, because my love life is a constant source of conversation between you two.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I’m ignoring that because it’s true – and listen to this, okay? Trip said that in all the time he’s known Jemma, he’s _never_ seen her as social as she has been since she met you. In fact, as far as he knows, she used to spend all of her time reading and ordering takeout in. She was a hermit, just like you, but she keeps hanging out with us to see _you_!” She threw her hands up at the end of her sentence, then leaned back heavily in her chair.

Fitz rolled his eyes, refusing to allow himself to buy into Daisy’s assumptions – because if the words hadn’t come from Jemma herself, then that was all that they could be. “ _Or_ , maybe she keeps spending time with us because you haven’t exactly given her a choice. I know _I_ haven’t gotten one, and have you ever tried saying no to yourself?”

Daisy pursed her lips thoughtfully, tilting her head back and forth as she considered. “Well, I guess you’ve got a point – that is how I ended up with these ridiculously cute but expensive-as-hell boots.” She stuck her leg out, wiggling her foot to display her knee-high leather boots.

“Alright, if you’re going to start talking about clothes, then I’m going to go back to my files before Coulson kicks us out for loitering.”

“He would never do that to me,” Daisy insisted, “I’m his favorite employee.” Still, she picked up her next folder and opened it up regardless.

Fitz leafed through the pages of the report he was currently reading, and was just about to declare it unconnected when a flash of color caught his eye. Frowning, he flipped back through stack of papers, until he came to a set of full-size photographs from an autopsy of a male subject, dating back to the previous year.

Right there on his chest was a carved ‘H’.

Getting out of his chair so quickly it nearly tripped him, Fitz hurried around the desk until he could set the file down in front of Daisy. “Quentin, Paul, found stabbed along the side of the road in July of last year.” He tapped the autopsy photograph.

“Holy _shit_.” Daisy leaned forward quickly, studying the picture with wide eyes. “Did you say _July_?”

“Yep.” He carefully removed the photograph, pointing to the autopsy report in the file. “Medical examiner wasn’t sure what to make of it, so it was never considered important. _But_ , the case was never solved and eventually went cold.”

Daisy turned to him, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “Fitz…this means that there could be others. Who _knows_ how long this has been going on?”

Nodding grimly, Fitz replaced the pictures in the Quentin file, tucking it under his arm as he stepped back over to his desk. “We better get searching then.”

-

“So this guy’s been running around killing people for _how_ long?” Trip asked the next day, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Almost two years,” Daisy answered, crossing her arms angrily over her chest and shaking her head. Trip tightened his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her briefly against his side in comfort.

“There were five other cases that had somehow slipped through the cracks, all cold of course, that had featured that same ‘H’ marking,” Fitz explained with a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch. “Coulson’s looking into it, trying to find out _how_ we’d never connected them before yesterday.”

“It’s a good thing you found those files then,” Jemma commented, shifting in her seat in front of the coffee table to sit cross-legged. “I’d hate for those poor people to have lost their chances at justice someday – hopefully _soon_.”

Fitz nodded in agreement, but before the conversation could continue, Daisy stated loudly, “Okay, that’s enough shop talk for now. Who’s up for Scrabble?”

Much to Fitz’s fascination, Jemma seemed to light up at the very mention, delightedly clasping her hands together and squirming excitedly where she sat. “ _Oh_! I love Scrabble! I used to play with my father all the time growing up; even though he hasn’t won a game since I turned nine, however, he’s never complained.”

Trip chuckled, playfully elbowing Daisy. “You sure about this game, girl? Because I think we’re about to be made out to look like fools.”

“ _Ha_ , like you could ever look foolish,” she shot back with a smirk as she slid the Scrabble box out from under the coffee table. “And so what if Jemma kicks our asses? Fitz is the only sore loser here and I’m sure _he_ won’t mind.”

Fitz shot a pointed glare in Daisy’s direction, but when Jemma glanced at him curiously, he was quick to make sure his expression was something more neutral. “Ah, well, I’m not…I’m not used to losing, but I can respect being beat by a fellow intellectual, I suppose.”

“A fellow intellectual?” she repeated with an amused grin.

He winced, not noticing the words that had left his mouth until she’d repeated them. Not wanting to get into the whole father-dictating-his-life thing at the moment, Fitz simply shrugged and muttered, “It was just a joke.”

Clearing her throat to diffuse the sudden tension in the room, Daisy shook the bag of letters and asked, “Who wants to go first, then?”

As the game got started, the tension began to fade, and Fitz forgot all about his slip of the tongue and instead focused all of his energies on getting as many double and triple word scores as he possibly could. Daisy and Trip seemed to have given up on even _attempting_ to win not long after the game had started, and they mostly spent the time watching in amusement as Fitz and Jemma competed.

Their scores were practically neck-and-neck, and though Fitz wanted nothing more than to make Jemma happy, he had to admit that the slowly growing outrage on her face as he easily kept up with her was incredibly amusing.

And when he smugly placed his tiles down to form the word ‘quetzals’ on a triple-word score square, Jemma was practically shaking with rage. “It’s the national bird of Guatemala,” he explained as he claimed his fifty-two points.

“I _know_ ,” she answered tightly. A hush fell over the room as she spent the next few minutes gazing intently at her letters and the board, and Fitz leaned back contentedly, sure that he had the game in the bag. But, then a smile began to slowly creep across her face, and using his ‘z’, she spelled out ‘oxazepam’ with the ‘x’ landing on a double letter score square.

“Oh come _on_ , you guys are ridiculous,” Daisy teased through a disbelieving laugh. “What even _is_ that?”

“An anti-anxiety drug,” Jemma answered smugly. “It really does pay to be a doctor – especially when _winning_ scrabble.” She turned their score sheet around to face Fitz, pointedly tapping her pencil against her circled score, just four points higher than his.

Chuckling, Trip began to help Daisy pick up the game. “Well, that was certainly entertaining.”

Jemma turned to Fitz, still smiling triumphantly as she held out her hand. “Good game, Fitz. In fact, it’s the most challenging game of Scrabble I’ve likely ever played.”

“Yeah, me too,” Fitz admitted, hesitantly reaching out to grasp her perpetually chilly fingers within his own. He gave her hand a little shake, but didn’t quite release it at first, selfishly wanting to prolong the contact as long as was socially acceptable.

He was just toeing the line of an uncomfortably long moment when he reluctantly released her hand, and as he quickly looked away to avoid her eyes, he instead caught sight of Daisy’s knowing smirk.

“Alright,” she announced, clapping her hands to make sure she had everyone’s attention, “since Scrabble was a bust for us _normal folk_ , the next game is one I know I can’t lose.”

Fitz didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the sound of it _at all_. Should he expect her to whip out an empty beer bottle for Spin the Bottle? Shot glasses for Never Have I Ever? Or should he expect the even more juvenile Truth or Dare?

Then, Daisy was whipping out a white box and waving it back and forth as she cried out, “Twister!”

He’d have preferred Truth or Dare.

 _Especially_ some time later when he had his right hand on red and his left foot on green – and oh yeah, Jemma’s _breasts right in his face_ as she leaned across him to place her right hand on yellow. Daisy was trying so hard to keep her laughter in that she was trembling, her arms shaking with the force of keeping herself up and Fitz hoped savagely that she’d slip and fall and lose the goddamn game.

“Sorry,” Jemma apologized a bit breathlessly, craning her neck to offer him a small smile.

“No, don’t, you’re…” _Beautiful. Perfect. Incredible._ “You’re um…you’re fine.”

All of a sudden, Daisy let out a snort, then another, then she was laughing so hard that her whole body seemed to give out – consequentially taking them all down _with her_. Fitz’s back hit the ground roughly as his legs got caught up with Trip’s, Daisy’s elbow was stabbing him in the thigh, and Jemma landed half on top of him, her breasts pressed against his chest and her ponytail flopping onto his face.

There was a beat of silence, then Daisy burst out laughing once more, quickly followed by Trip’s deep chuckles. Fitz could feel Jemma’s body shaking with barely contained laughter, and once she began giggling uncontrollably, he couldn’t have stopped his answering laugh even if he’d tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	4. Chapter 4

“So, what do you think of Agent May?” Daisy asked curiously the next night, peering at Fitz over the rim of her styrofoam coffee cup.

Fitz made a face, thinking back to earlier that day, when Coulson had introduced them to the special agent he’d called in to help them sort through the details of their serial killer case. She hadn’t spoken a word, only crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, sharp eyes studying them all carefully. “I think she’s terrifying,” he answered plainly.

Daisy nodded rapidly, her eyes growing wide. “Right?! I was afraid she was about to start yanking us into the interrogation room one at a time. She looked at me for two seconds and I nearly confessed to that pack of gum I stole from the drugstore when I was seven!”

“Well, at least she’s on our side,” Fitz pointed out with a chuckle. “And, she’ll hopefully be able to shake something loose that we couldn’t.”

“Yeah, if we ever find a suspect, or a witness, or even a _clue_.” Daisy sighed unhappily at the reminder that they had nothing to go on, tapping her fingers against the lid of her cup. “I asked Jemma about Sarah yesterday.”

Surprised, Fitz briefly glanced away from the road to study Daisy’s grim frown. “No change?” he guessed.

“Yeah. I mean, she’s hanging in there, but Jemma said that the more time that passes without a change, the less likely it is that she’ll wake up.” She went quiet for a moment, then murmured, “But what kind of life would she be waking up to? With her whole family gone…”

Even if Fitz couldn’t tell by the pained, faraway tone of her voice, he’d have been able to tell what was currently on her mind. “Hey, don’t forget that family doesn’t just come from blood. Yeah, it’ll hurt for a long time, possibly forever, but Sarah _will_ find other people to care about and love her and hopefully it’ll ease the pain a bit.”

When he chanced a glance, he caught sight of Daisy’s little smile in the dim light of the passing streetlamps. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, Fitz.”

Trying to ease the somber mood into something more upbeat, he teased, “I’m sorry, what did you just say? Did you say that I was _right_? Have you finally admitted that I’m right and you, Daisy Johnson, are wrong?”

She let out a laugh, lightly punching his shoulder. “Not on your life, Leopold Fitz!”

“Ah, well, it was worth a shot.”

The only sound then was their chuckles filling their squad car, but it was soon joined by the static of the radio coming to life. “ _390 at 230 Main Street,_ ” the dispatcher announced, but Fitz thought she sounded almost…exasperated?

Exchanging a glance with Daisy, Fitz pulled over to turn around as she reached for the receiver. “Unit 616, we copy.”

Turning on the lights but leaving the siren off for now, Fitz took off for the address, and it wasn’t long before they were pulling up in front of a popular bar, often frequented by college kids and young adults getting off of work. “I hope it’s not another frat boy mouthing off,” he grumbled as he climbed out of the car. “You try to arrest one, then the rest of the whole damn fraternity descends on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daisy said airily as she followed him onto the sidewalk and toward the front door of the bar. “They _loved_ me.”

Fitz shot a look at her over his shoulder, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. He pushed open the door, leading the way inside, and it didn’t take more than a moment for him to see the problem. “Oh come _on_.”

Sitting at the bar, waving a half-empty bottle of beer and ranting about women at the top of his lungs was none other than Lance Hunter, Bobbi’s ex and a reformed small-time criminal.

“I used t’ think there were some good ones, y’know?” Hunter was babbling, “But then I realized they’re all bloody _hellbeasts_ hiding beneath those beautiful faces. Y’can’t trust _any_ of ‘em! None!”

Sighing, Fitz walked up to Hunter, planting his hands on his hips. “You about done?”

Hunter swiveled around on his bar stool to face Fitz, nearly landing himself on the floor in the process – if he hadn’t caught himself on Fitz’s shoulder. “Fitz! My man! Mate, how you been? What’re you doing here? Aren’t you working?” He squinted, tilting his head to the side as he studied Fitz’s uniform. “Do you always dress like that then?”

“Come on, Hunter,” Daisy said, stepping up beside Fitz and gesturing toward the door. “We’ll give you a ride home.”

“But I’m not done yet,” Hunter insisted, gesturing with his bottle.

Fitz arched an eyebrow at that. “Do you want us to call Bobbi, then? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind coming down here to drag your ass to jail so you can sleep it off.”

“It’d probably make her night,” Daisy added, lifting her eyebrows as she chuckled.

Hunter made a face, scoffing. “Yeah, right, like I’m gonna do _anything_ to make tha’ bloody terror happy.” Using Fitz’s shoulder for support, he climbed down from his stool (almost causing _both_ of them to go stumbling, if Daisy hadn’t caught his arm). To the scattering of small groups of twenty-somethings in the bar, Hunter saluted and called, “Goodnight, my good men!”

Rolling his eyes, Fitz wrapped an arm around Hunter’s waist, supporting his weight with a grunt as he led him out the door of the bar and into the back of their squad car. “Comfortable?” Fitz asked dryly as Hunter flopped back onto the seat.

“Fantastic, mate,” Hunter mumbled, holding up a wobbly thumb’s up.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Fitz turned to Daisy, who was standing aside with her arms folded across her chest. “How did we get stuck taking out the trash?” she grumbled.

“He’s not that bad,” Fitz defended weakly, and when she shot him a look, he tacked on, “when he’s sober.” She nodded grudgingly at that, but suddenly something occurred to Fitz. “Hey, doesn’t Hunter still have some contacts?”

Daisy straightened, dropping her arms to her sides. “Fitz! Oh my god, that’s right. Remember, it was his information that busted that drug dealer a couple of months ago?”

“I can’t imagine that Bobbi wouldn’t have already thought to ask him, but it can’t hurt.”

Scoffing, Daisy went to open her door and climb in. “Are you kidding me? She wouldn’t get within thirty feet of him, let alone close enough to _question_ him.”

Thinking to himself that Daisy was probably right, Fitz walked around the front of the car to get in on his side, and as he started the engine and took off in the direction of Hunter’s flat, she called into the back, “Hey Hunter?”

“What is it, love? I’m trying to sleep,” Hunter replied impatiently.

Daisy hissed out a frustrated breath. “Have you heard anything on the street about the recent string of murders?”

Hunter was quiet for a lengthy moment, and Fitz darted a glance in the rearview mirror to see if he’d passed out, but eventually he hummed contemplatively. “Been hearing ‘bout those on the news. Terribly sad, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered, the irritation clear in her tone, “But what have you _heard_ , Hunter? Have people been talking?”

“Well…haven’t been spending much time with the boys lately. Most of ‘em are locked up, you know. And after marrying a cop – even if you got divorced five bloody months later – they don’t really trust you much anymore, funnily enough. But…”

“Yes?” Fitz prompted, gripping the wheel a bit more tightly as he waited for the rest of Hunter’s sentence.

“I heard somethin’…strange. Now, mind you, I wasn’t in the conversation, just overhearing as you do, but they were having a good laugh, talkin’ bout how the case would never be solved if the cops couldn’t look inside themselves – whatever that bloody means. They were rather smashed, y’know, so I’d take it with a grain of sugar.”

“Salt,” Fitz corrected absently, focused mostly on trying to figure out what the hell ‘looking inside themselves’ was supposed to mean.

“Yeah yeah, can I get some bloody shut-eye now?”

“Sure, whatever,” Daisy replied, even though there were already quite close to his flat. “Fitz? What…?”

He shook his head, releasing a heavy sigh. “I don’t even have the first clue.”

-

The next night, Fitz was late arriving to dinner with Daisy, Trip, and Jemma, and by the time he showed up at the restaurant, they already had drinks sitting in front of them and were chatting idly. “Sorry,” he apologized as he slid into the booth next to Jemma (and made sure to keep a respectful distance, of course). “I stopped by the station to talk to Coulson about Hunter’s information.”

“If you can call it that,” Daisy muttered, rolling her eyes and resting her chin dejectedly on her hand. “The guy was three sheets to the wind.”

“Well, turns out Coulson had him dragged in today so May could interview him.” Daisy’s eyebrows rose in interest, and she leaned closer across the table. “He couldn’t give anything more, but he’s _positive_ of what he heard – and he was reasonably sober.”

“Whoa.” Daisy dropped back against the leather booth. Then, a little grin tugged at her lips as she asked, “Was Bobbi there?”

Fitz grimaced, dragging a tired hand over his face as he nodded. “Oh yeah. Haven’t heard that much yelling and cursing since I left Glasgow.”

Daisy winced sympathetically. “So, not good, then?”

“No.” He frowned, then added slowly, “Though…she did offer to bring him home, so they’ve either killed each other by now, or… _the other thing_.”

“ _Ew_.” She sighed sadly, shaking her head. “Oh Bobbi.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma started suddenly, “But I admit I’m terribly curious – who are you talking about?”

Fitz turned to face Jemma, whose lips were quirked in a small, bewildered smile. “Oh, Bobbi’s our friend – she works at the precinct with us. Hunter’s her ex-husband, whom she met while arresting him for petty theft years ago.”

Startled, Jemma arched her eyebrows, leaning back a bit in clear surprise. “Are you _serious_? I thought that only happened in fiction.”

“Yeah, well, Bobbi’s always been more of a jumping in feet-first kinda person,” Daisy explained, shrugging as she took a sip of her soda.

“Bet she reevaluated her life choices after _that_ mistake,” Trip commented with a chuckle.

Daisy scoffed, shoving his shoulder teasingly. “Oh come on, you _know_ she did.” To Jemma, she explained, “Bobbi now has a ‘one-day’ policy, where she won’t make big life decisions without giving herself a day to think about it first and talk herself out of anything crazy. Though, apparently, she’s thrown _that_ out the window.” Abruptly, she changed the subject to ask, “Hey, speaking of feet-first, how do you feel about the beach?”

“Uh…what?” Fitz asked in confusion. He was usually able to keep up with Daisy’s rapidly-changing trains of thought, but this one even had him lost.

“How do you feel about the beach?” Daisy repeated, then when he continued to stare blankly at her, she explained, “I’ve been thinking about getting away from the station and the case for awhile, maybe taking a day trip to the beach now that the weather’s getting nice.”

Trip grinned, draping his arm over her shoulders. “Sounds like a good idea to me, girl. I could use some sun and sand, and a few less troubles.”

“I do enjoy the beach,” Jemma answered, with a little sigh. “But I burn terribly.”

“Yeah, well, so does Fitz, so we’ll make sure to stock up on a ton of sunscreen – SPF 1000 or whatever it is you Brits need,” Daisy was quick to assure her. “Come on, it’ll be _so_ fun and we’ve all been totally lacking in fun lately.”

When Jemma finally caved and smiled, Daisy then turned her pout on Fitz, who had yet to say anything, but it wasn’t long before he sighed heavily and sagged against the back of the booth. “ _Fine_. But if I come home looking like a lobster and get made fun of – by you or anyone else – I’ll be looking to you to blame, Daisy.”

“Done!” Excitedly, Daisy clasped her hands together and bounced up and down a bit in her seat. “Then it’s settled; this weekend, beach life here we come!”

After Daisy had extracted agreements to the beach trip from each of them, they then spent the rest of dinner figuring out the details, and by the time they were leaving the restaurant, they had it all planned out. Fitz was even feeling cautiously optimistic about it; he’d never been the biggest fan of beaches, but Daisy had been right in saying that they needed to get away from the case, even if it was just for a short time. It’d been weighing far too heavily on all of them for too long now.

“What’s going on?” Trip asked suddenly as he pushed open the glass front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“What do you…” Fitz trailed off as he joined Trip outside, and immediately caught sight of a crowd gathering not far down the block; the buzz of their collective whispers could be heard even from this distance.

After exchanging the briefest of glances with Daisy, he hurried toward the crowd, pushing his way through the tight gathering of bodies; no one even seemed to realize that he was attempting to get through, and when he noticed the shaking and gasping, the hurried conversations of several individuals on their phones, his heart began to sink.

“Police,” Daisy announced as she followed right on his heels, not so gently elbowing her own path through, “make some room!”

When they’d cleared the throng of onlookers, Fitz could finally see what had so completely captured their attention: several feet away, there was a body sprawled out on the sidewalk, blood pooling on the pavement and soaking through the man’s tattered clothes.

This couldn’t be possible – he had to be having another nightmare. This was a public street, it was still early evening, and the body had clearly been dumped there; nothing about this made sense, nothing about this fit the killer’s MO. And if they couldn’t count on an MO…

Then they had _nothing_.

“Excuse me!” Jemma cried as she rushed forward then, brushing past Fitz as she went to kneel beside the man and immediately reached out to check his pulse. She seemed to be holding her breath, tentative hope written in her expression as she gazed down at his bloodied face.

But, after a moment, she released a shaky breath and bowed her head. Even though Fitz had been frozen since laying eyes on yet another body in the last place he would’ve imagined happening upon one, as he caught sight of her shoulders beginning to subtly shake, his feet began to move automatically. Once he’d reached her, he squatted down beside her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, even as he heard the distant cry of sirens in the distance.

As Jemma trembled lightly beneath his own shaking hand, Fitz swallowed roughly and lowered his gaze to the victim. From this angle, he could clearly see the messily slashed ‘H’ carved into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 390 - drunk
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There are some depictions of violence toward the end of this chapter, though it’s quite brief and not too graphic.

“Have you found anything?”

Fitz peered over the top of the file folder in his hands, meeting Elena’s gaze. Her expression was somewhere between curious, solemn, and seriously _bored_. “Not yet, no. You?”

Elena scoffed, giving him a look as she glanced at her towering stack of rejected files, then back to him with an eyebrow cocked.

“That’s a no, then?” he asked with a dry chuckle.

She grumbled something under her breath, but Fitz didn’t try too hard to catch whatever it was – she just as easily could’ve been speaking Spanish as English, and there was only _one_ of those that Fitz was fluent in. Reaching out to grasp her mug, Elena shook it, and frowned as she tilted it toward her to glance over the rim. Sighing heavily, she got to her feet. “I’ll be back,” she told him.

Fitz waved in acknowledgement, dropping his eyes back to the file he’d been reading over. In the few days since the last victim had been found (without a single clue to lead back to the killer, of course), they’d finished going over all of the files on homicides in the district, finding nothing more that could connect back to the case. Under May’s direction, however, all of the lesser crimes were now getting looked back over with a fine-toothed comb as well – she didn’t want them to miss a detail, no matter how small or seemingly unimportant.

Currently, Fitz was scanning over the information on a money laundering scheme from a couple of years back. More specifically, he found his attention caught and held by a brief interview that had been conducted during the course of the case with prominent businessman, Gideon Malick.

One of his companies had been affected by the scheme, and it was customary to bring him in to ask questions about anything strange he might have noticed, any persons of interest that he could point them toward; the interview itself was pretty straightforward.

But, what caught Fitz’s eye, was a seemingly innocuous comment he’d made, “ _That’s how it is with these things, you find one culprit and take them in, but two more simply pop up in his place. Is there really any way to put a stop to crime when, for every criminal you take off the streets, there are just two more waiting in the wings?_ ”

Though the officer who’d conducted the interview hadn’t seemed to have found anything strange with Malick’s comments on the climate of crime, it raised Fitz’s suspicions – after all, they were quite sure that the murders very likely hadn’t been committed by a single person, and a crime ring would make sense.

Figuring that it could just be nothing, but he’d rather be safe than sorry, Fitz closed the file and got up from his desk to head to Coulson’s office. He passed Elena on the way, now with a full cup of coffee, and told her, “Hey, good luck on your search.”

She paused, taking a small sip of her coffee and rolling her eyes. “Oh yes, _gracias_. Are you out?”

“Until my shift tonight, yeah.” He patted the folder as he explained, “Just dropping this off for Coulson.”

Elena nodded in understanding, offering him a short wave as she headed back toward her desk and the stack of unread files waiting for her. Fitz continued on his way to Coulson’s office, and was nearly there when he all-but ran into Lieutenant John Garrett, just coming out of his office down the hall.

“Oh! Sorry, sir,” Fitz apologized quickly, backing up a couple of steps.

Garrett chuckled, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it, kid.” He eyed the file Fitz was holding, then asked, “Dropping something off to the chief?”

“Yeah. Figured he’d want to take a look at it.”

Garrett nodded in understanding, glancing over his shoulder at Coulson’s closed door. “Well listen, Coulson’s in a meeting with Agent May right now, but if you want to skip outta here now, I’ll take that bad boy right in there – I’m sitting in on the discussion.” He smirked and arched an eyebrow. “Lucky me.”

Fitz hesitated, glancing from the folder, to Garrett’s congenial smile, then to Coulson’s door, before finally nodding and handing it over. “Thanks, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gave Fitz’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Now, go on, get out of here. No use spending all your time inside on a day like this.”

Smiling a bit awkwardly, Fitz nodded, stepping back a bit more. Instead of admitting to Garrett that he was just going home to try and get at least an hour of sleep before his shift that night, he simply said, “Yeah, sure. Thanks again.”

-

“You know,” Daisy started casually later that night as she tucked her pen back into her pocket, “it’s not _us_ that kid’s gotta worry about – he’s not seriously injured, and he totally _trashed_ his mom’s car.”

Fitz winced in mild sympathy, thinking of the sixteen-year-old who’d gotten into a car crash earlier that evening, who’s hospital room they’d just left. “Well, this will teach him to text while driving, then. I’d say whatever his mum gives him, he deserves.”

“Too true, Fitzy.” Daisy tapped the paper she was holding that contained the boy’s written statement, the one they’d been sent to the hospital to receive. “Pretty big of him to admit to it, though, so I suppose that counts for something. He’s just lucky no one was seriously hurt.”

“Yeah, we’ve had enough of that already.”

Daisy paused suddenly, causing Fitz to stop and turn back to glance at her curiously. “Speaking of…I think this is Sarah Hudson’s room.” She gestured to the closed door of the hospital room to their left.

Fitz frowned, retracing his steps until he stood beside Daisy once more. “So, are you saying we should…?”

“I mean, she probably doesn’t get many visitors,” she pointed out. “It can’t hurt; we’ll just pop in, see how she is, then head out and get this statement back to the station.”

He hesitated another moment, then gave a nod of agreement. “Alright, yeah.” He stepped aside so that Daisy could turn the knob, peering into the room so that she could confirm that it was indeed Sarah’s before leading the way inside.

The little girl looked much the same as she had the day after the murders, when Jemma had taken them to see her. However, with the weeks that had passed, her wounds seemed to have begun to heal – a few of the bandages had been removed to reveal healing cuts scabbed over with fresh skin in the progress of forming. Unfortunately, the removal of the bandages also exposed more of her face, and it had Fitz’s stomach turning.

She was so _young_ , her face so little and still rounded with adolescence. He couldn’t _imagine_ that someone had stared into that tiny face and attacked her so savagely, leaving her bloodied and broken and most unforgivably, without a family. What kind of person could _do_ such a thing?

“Hey Fitz?”

Startled out of his increasingly down-spiraling, disgust-fueled thoughts, Fitz turned to face a concerned Daisy. “Yeah?”

“You okay? You’re looking a bit green around the gills there.”

Fitz cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding looking at both Daisy and poor little Sarah. “Yeah, m’fine, just…remembering.”

Daisy sighed softly. “Yeah, me too.” After a moment of silence filled with the sound of a steadily-beeping heart monitor, she asked, “You ready to head back?”

He nodded quickly, already taking a step toward the door. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.” They headed out of the room, but just before he stepped out the door, Fitz glanced back over his shoulder at Sarah, looking so small and helpless in that big hospital bed and hooked up to so many machines. Under his breath, he promised once more, “We’re gonna get ‘em, don’t you worry.”

-

_The front door was flung open wide, an eerie glow spilling out onto the front steps from inside. Fitz, his hands trembling as they gripped his gun, took cautious steps until he crossed the threshold into the house, the light growing brighter and brighter until he had to squeeze his eyes shut._

_When he forced them back open, it was to find that the light had faded until he could barely see a thing, only a flame flickering now somewhere nearby. He stepped further into the room, but when he accidentally kicked something in his path, he automatically reached out for the light switch, which was exactly where he’d imagined it’d be even though he’d never been there before._

_As the lights came on, they threw the contents of the room into sharp relief, and Fitz found himself staring out across a sea of bloodied bodies, all of their empty eyes staring straight at him. He saw Daisy, Trip, Bobbi, Elena, Coulson, May, his mum, and…_

_And right at his feet was Jemma, blood streaked across her face and her chest sliced open so her heart was exposed, beating slowly, so slowly._

_“Jemma,” he gasped, dropping to his knees beside her, his hands fumbling about for somewhere to touch her that wouldn’t cause her anymore pain._

_“Fitz…” she whispered, voice laced with her clear agony, “Help…help me…”_

_“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Fitz told her desperately, swiping hastily at the tears spilling down his cheeks before they could fall on her. “Tell me what to do. Please.”_

_“Help… Fitz…” Through the gaping wound in her chest, he noticed her heart give one last pulse, then stop at the same moment that the faraway flame flared bigger and brighter before going out completely, leaving him alone in the dark._

Gasping for breath, Fitz jerked awake, clammy hands fisting tightly in his sheets. When he found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling, weak morning sunlight cast across it, he attempted to calm the racing beat of his heart in his chest.

It had only been a dream. _Just a dream_.

But, when his eyelids slipped closed to relieve the tired ache that his eyes always carried these days, he found the images of his friends and family slaughtered by an unknown killer waiting there for him. His eyes sprung back open, and he lifted a shaking hand to drag down his sweaty face.

After a moment, he decided to give up on sleep for now and go make a cup of tea to steady his nerves, but when he moved to get out of bed, he caught sight of his alarm clock. It was just after five, and his brain caught on the reminder that Jemma would’ve likely gotten off of her shift by then.

She _had_ said that she was available if he ever wanted to talk…

Too shaken by his nightmare to give it another thought, Fitz reached for his phone, scrolling through until he found Jemma’s name in his contacts. As it began to ring, he laid back against his pillow and tried to breathe evenly, still working on getting his heartbeat back under control.

The phone rang five times before the call was answered, and Jemma’s familiar voice, heavier than usual with sleep, mumbled, “ _Mmm…hello_?”

“Oh god, did I…did I wake you?” Fitz groaned in disbelief at himself – of _course_ she’d gone home and promptly fallen asleep. When _else_ was she supposed to sleep?

“ _Fitz_?” She cleared her throat, sounding more awake as she asked, “ _What’s wrong_?”

“Nothing, I just…” Releasing a heavy sigh, he shook his head at himself, feeling dumb and impulsive. “Forget it, I’ll just…see you later.”

He was pulling the phone away from his ear to end the call when he heard her say hastily, “ _Wait, Fitz! Don’t worry about it – please, tell me what’s bothering you._ ”

Sighing quietly, he brought the phone back to his ear and dragged his fingers through his sleep-mussed curls. “I just…had a pretty…disturbing nightmare.”

She hummed in sympathy. “ _Want to talk about it_?”

Fitz clenched his free hand into a fist, images of Jemma’s mutilated body flashing through his memory. “Not…particularly.”

He heard the muffled sound of bed springs over the line, and figured that she must’ve been shifting around to get more comfortable. “ _Do you know what caused it_? _Anything in particular about yesterday that would’ve led to such a nightmare this morning_?”

He thought back over his night, but other than the teenage boy’s car crash and a couple of speeding tickets, the night had been rather slow. “Not really, no…” But, he trailed off as he remembered it – paying a visit to Sarah’s hospital room had brought back a fresh wave of all those dark, sickening feelings he’d gotten the night they’d discovered her family’s murder. “Wait, Daisy and I were at the hospital, we checked in on Sarah and…”

“ _Ah_ ,” Jemma murmured in understanding, “ _That’ll do it, yes._ ” She was quiet for a moment, but Fitz was more than content to simply listen to the sound of her even breathing, far more calming than anything _he_ could’ve said or done. “ _You know, there are nights when I close my eyes and all of the awful things I’ve seen in the hospital over the years are there waiting for me. There have been times when I’ve forced myself to stay awake for_ days _so that I wouldn’t have to relive those horrible memories as soon as I let my guard down_.”

“So…what do you do?” Fitz asked, hoping for some kind of advice, or at least for Jemma to keep talking – the sound of her voice was just as soothing as listening to her breathing, perhaps even more so.

She gave a quiet sigh, then admitted, “ _There’s nothing that I really can do, to be honest. I’m sure that wasn’t what you were looking for, but…but those memories are always with you, whether you wish them to be or not. And unfortunately, the memories that tend to stick are the ones we wish we didn’t have. Some nights will be easier than others, some nights you’ll lie awake wondering if you’ve made a terrible mistake, and should’ve chosen a profession with less blood and gore. But, in the end – for me, at least – you’ll remember that you do what you do to help people, and it’s worth losing a little sleep, isn’t it_?”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed softly. Of course he believed in helping people and always had – but, being a police officer was never the way he’d imagined doing so.

“ _Sometimes it all comes down to finding a balance between the dark times, and going out and having fun, taking your mind off of it._ ” Jemma gave a little laugh as she told him, “ _I’ll admit that I wasn’t doing much of the latter until you and Daisy came along. You’ve done wonders for my social life, you know_.”

Fitz chuckled, shifting to rest his head on his arm and allowing his eyes to slip closed once more. With Jemma’s voice in his ear, the twisted images seemed to be kept at bay – for now, at least. “Okay, I’ll admit to much the same. Daisy’s been trying for years to get me out and socializing more, but this is the first time it’s really worked.”

“ _Well then I’m flattered_ ,” she teased, “ _And rather impressed than you’ve been able to deny Daisy for so long – I thought such a thing was impossible_.”

“Yeah, well, you have to _really_ want it.” As Jemma’s laugh washed over him, Fitz smiled, but reluctantly said, “I should probably let you get back to sleep, then.”

“ _And you as well_ ,” she replied. “ _I hope the nightmares stay away long enough for you to get some sleep_.”

“Me too.” He paused, then released a quiet breath and said, “Hey Jemma?”

“ _Yes_?”

“Just…thanks. For…well…” _Existing_. “Everything.”

“ _Of_ course,” Jemma told him firmly. “ _I don’t mind one bit, Fitz. I’m always here to talk, whenever you need me, alright_?”

Fitz’s lips quirked up at the corners, even as he thought to himself that he was likely to _always_ need her. “Well, the same goes for you, okay? I’m always here if you need me.”

“ _That’s good to know_.” There was a beat of silence, then she finally said, “ _Goodbye, Fitz. I’ll see you later._ ”

“Yeah, later. ‘Bye Jemma.” Reluctantly, he hung up the phone, replacing it on his nightstand and rolling away from the gathering light outside his window to try and get a few more hours of sleep in.

However, his gaze fell across the expanse of his empty mattress, and Fitz felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest as he was hit with the fervent wish for Jemma to still be there. But, instead of simply hearing her voice over the phone, he couldn’t help but imagine her there beside him, tucked up in his sheets with her hair spread out over the pillow, wearing a smile that would light up her tired eyes.

And it was then that Fitz _knew_ , without a doubt, that whatever it was that he felt for Jemma Simmons, it was more than friendship, more than attraction or a mere crush.

It was more than he’d ever felt for _anyone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter contains vague mentions to past relationship abuse/domestic violence.

“Morning Fitzy!”

Fitz let out an indistinct groan in response as he flopped into the backseat of Daisy’s car. “Too early,” he grumbled, immediately closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the headrest.

“Oh, quit your whining,” Daisy called over her shoulder as she put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb outside his flat. “If we didn’t leave at the crack of dawn, we’d have barely any time at the beach before work tonight!”

It wasn’t that Fitz wasn’t looking forward to their beach trip (well…mostly); it had more to do with the fact that he’d been getting even _less_ sleep since the morning he’d called Jemma. The nightmares had yet to cease, and even when they weren’t keeping him awake at night, his ever-growing feelings for Jemma _were_.

He just couldn’t believe that he’d done something so incredibly _dumb_ as to fall for Jemma Simmons – she was one of the greatest people he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting, not to mention a wonderful friend to have, and also one hundred percent out of his league. Despite how often Daisy assured him that Jemma felt the same, Fitz knew that a relationship with her was only a pipe dream.

And even if it wasn’t? He was sure to find a way to screw it up within a week, and he just couldn’t lose her – not like that, not _ever_.

So, Fitz was determined to keep his feelings to himself, keep them contained, and keep them from getting in the way of his friendship with Jemma. It couldn’t be _that_ difficult, could it?

Then, he felt the car coming to a stop, and opened his eyes in time to see Jemma opening the door and climbing into the backseat beside him, looking absolutely _radiant_ with a wide grin on her face, her hair tied up in a bun, and wearing the cutest little yellow halter dress.

“Good morning,” she greeted them brightly as she set her woven beach bag down and buckled her seatbelt.

“Morning Jemma!” Daisy called as she joined traffic once more, heading in the direction of the nearest beach.

“Morning,” Trip added with a sunny chuckle.

Before Fitz could try to figure out how words worked again, Jemma turned to him and said softly, “Good morning, Fitz. How did you sleep?”

Fitz’s heart beat unevenly with overwhelming affection for her, and he clasped his suddenly clammy hands together in his lap. “Good morning, Jemma. Uh…alright, I guess. Didn’t get as much as I would’ve liked, but…I’ll take what I can get. You?”

“Much the same, I’m afraid,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair that’d come loose from her bun behind her ear. “But, I think working in the ER has conditioned me to function on little sleep, so I’ll manage.”

He almost asked what had kept her from finding sleep the night before, but figured that if he hadn’t been interested in sharing the details of his disturbing nightmare, she likely wouldn’t be interested in sharing hers either.

So, instead, he started up a much more casual conversation, and along with Daisy’s off-key singing to pop songs and Trip’s ever-entertaining stories about his grandfather, it felt as though little time had passed as they arrived at the beach. It was moderately busy for an especially warm day in late spring, and it didn’t take long to find a section of sand to claim as their own. He and Trip set down coolers and bags of towels and sunscreen as Daisy stuck the beach umbrella in the sand and opened it up while Jemma spread out a fairly wide beach blanket.

“There,” Daisy said at last, clapping her hands together in front of her. Then, she turned to her boyfriend enthusiastically. “Wanna head down to the water?”

“You know it, girl,” Trip replied easily, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it down onto the blanket, near Fitz’s feet.

“And I’ll stay here,” Fitz said dryly, plopping down onto the blanket beside Jemma and crossing his arms protectively over his chest, “where I can keep my shirt on and not have to stand next to _that_.”

Daisy laughed as she kicked her shorts off her ankles and discarded her loose t-shirt to reveal a black bikini. “Probably a good idea, Fitzy. Don’t forget what I said about the pudginess,” she teased as she accepted the bottle of sunscreen from Jemma.

Fitz grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes petulantly. “I am _not_ pudgy.”

Tossing the bottle back to Jemma, Daisy teasingly blew Fitz a kiss, then grabbed Trip’s arm and began leading him down the beach toward the clear blue ocean.

“Hey.” At the sound of Jemma’s voice, paired with the little jab of her elbow into his ribs, Fitz turned to face her curiously. “Don’t listen to her – she’s just teasing.”

“Oh, I know,” he assured her, giving another little roll of his eyes. “After all this time, I’d _have_ to know Daisy was kidding if I wanted to keep my sanity and any shred of my self-esteem.”

Jemma’s lips quirked up in a small smile, and she told him warmly, “Well, in the interest of helping your self-esteem, I definitely don’t think you’re _pudgy_.” He raised an eyebrow, wondering what the hell _that_ was supposed to mean, but before he could find an entirely casual way to ask her that, she abruptly changed the subject, “You know, I’m quite sure I’ve never seen those two anything but completely happy together.”

Blinking a couple of times to try and keep up with the line of conversation, Fitz followed Jemma’s gaze down the beach, to where Daisy and Trip were wading ankle-deep into the water. They watched as Daisy then unexpectedly leaped into Trip’s back, hooking her arms and legs around him.

“Yeah, they’re really great together,” Fitz replied, letting out a laugh as Trip stepped out further into the ocean, unceremoniously dumping Daisy into the water. “I’ve never been happier for Daisy than when she met Trip, actually. S’when I started seeing the old Daisy again.”

Jemma hummed contemplatively, then she admitted softly, “Daisy told me a bit about…Ward. About what happened.”

Fitz tensed at the sound of his name, curling his hands into fists where they rested against his thighs. “Ah,” he said simply. Through the nausea curling in his stomach, Fitz felt a twinge of surprise that Daisy had shared the story with anyone. In fact, the only time he knew of that she’d repeated the whole awful tale was when she’d been with Trip for some time, and had finally trusted him enough to believe that he wouldn’t leave or be scared away. But, he supposed, Jemma had seamlessly woven her way into their friend group, and even though it’d only been a few months, it felt as though she’d always been there.

On second thought, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that Daisy had shared the terrible story with the incredibly trustworthy Jemma Simmons after all.

“You don’t have to…I just…” She released a quiet, frustrated breath, gesturing impatiently with her hand as she tried to find the right words. “I just wanted to ask if… _you’re_ okay.”

Caught completely off-guard, Fitz turned to face Jemma with raised eyebrows. “What?”

Jemma anxiously hooked her hands around her neck, turning a bit pink in the cheeks as she shrugged. “Well, I just…Daisy told me that he was your friend too, and…she didn’t tell me _what_ happened, but that something did, so…”

He inhaled a shaky breath, turning back to stare out over the glittering ocean lapping at the sand, trying desperately to focus on the beautiful sight rather than slip into memories of a few years previous. But, despite his best attempts, his mind’s eye flashed back to the way Ward’s eyes had grown dark and emotionless, the way his face had changed until he became an entirely different person.

“Y’know,” he started, his voice low and unsteady, “I’ve never feared more for Daisy than the day I saw my supposed _friend’s_ true colors.” He sighed, bowing his head and squeezing his eyes shut as he relived the day against his will. “I dunno what Daisy’s told you, but…but it all started back when we were both rookies. We’d just been partnered up, just starting to learn the ropes and all that. Ward…he’d already been on the force for a couple of years, and he so _graciously_ took us under his wing.” He practically spat the word, shaking his head in disgust. “And, ‘course, it was a little more than that when it came to Daisy.

“Things were really… _good_ for a short while, but when they started to go downhill, they went _fast_. At first, I had no idea, y’know? It was behind closed doors, and Daisy and I were friends but…but not _that_ close, so…” He paused, scoffing as he clenched his fists so tightly that his nails began to dig into his palms. “When Daisy first told me ‘bout the break-up, I had the nerve to be _upset_ with her. I mean, I’ve got no bloody clue, but there I was being a right bastard about her getting away from that psychopath.”

“Fitz,” Jemma murmured soothingly, laying a hand on his shoulder, “you couldn’t have known if Daisy didn’t tell you. You can’t blame yourself.”

But he _did_ , even to this day – he’d never forgive himself for not realizing it sooner. “Yeah, well, it didn’t last long, at any rate. Ward started following us during patrol, always showing up at the station even when he was off-duty, and I started realizing there had to be more to the story than a guy broken up about losing a girl. I confronted her about it one night, and she spilled the whole story to me, and…well, it wasn’t pretty, which is a complete understatement of course.

“But, finally, Daisy had had enough of being afraid of him and her life revolving around him, so she told him to get lost. He got so…so _angry_ , like he was suddenly a different person, and…and I saw the man that he truly was, under that fake as shit charming exterior.” Fitz reopened his eyes, gazing back out over the ocean as he shook his head absently. “’Course, I got between the two of them – I wasn’t about to let him hurt Daisy anymore than he already had, and Ward just…he _lost_ it.” A dry, humorless smile quirked his lips as he admitted, “Daisy was _pissed_ of course, and tore into me after it was all said and done, telling me that she didn’t _need_ protection.”

Sometimes, when he was having a bad night and the memories would resurface, he could still picture with crystal clear clarity the terror-stricken look on Daisy’s face as she cradled him in her lap, could still feel the drip-drop of her tears falling onto his skin and her hands shaking against the front of his blood-stained uniform.

Clearing his throat, Fitz finished shortly, “Suffice to say, Ward lost his job and spent some time behind bars – but not nearly enough, of course. Not when he’s got his pretty face and Daddy’s fat wallet to bail himself out of the shit he gets caught up in.” There was a beat of silence, where the distant buzz of voices and the rumble of the waves were the only sounds wrapping their way around them, then he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I never talk about it, so I guess once I got started…”

“Don’t apologize,” Jemma interrupted quickly, sliding her hand down from where it had still been resting on his shoulder to grip his forearm gently. He cautiously turned to meet her gaze, and found an understanding smile on her face, though there was a tightness to her eyes that seemed out of place with the rest of her expression. “I told you that I was always here to talk, didn’t I? It’s not healthy to keep things like that in, and…and I…well, I’m honored that you trust me enough to open up about that, Fitz.”

He gave a slight shrug, feeling his cheeks begin to burn with a light blush. “Yeah, well…you’re a pretty trustworthy person, Jemma.”

The answering smile that appeared on her face warmed him from head to toe, and he forgot all about Grant bloody Ward. “Thank you, Fitz. You’re a pretty trustworthy person, yourself.” She gave his arm a little squeeze, sending a tiny shiver down his spine. “I think I’m going to go dip my toes in now; would you like to come?”

“Sure, yeah,” Fitz answered automatically. Honestly, if she’d asked him to jump off of a cliff with her, he’d probably agree just as readily, as long as he got to be with _her_.

She smiled excitedly, rising from her seat on the beach blanket, and then with no further warning or preamble, she untied the halter strap of her dress and it slithered down her body to rest around her feet. And then, right there in front of him, was a little white bikini covered with blue flowers and _skin_ , so much naked _skin_.

Coughing quickly to stop himself from swallowing his own damn tongue, Fitz hastily averted his eyes because forget the goddamn sun, that much perfection would undoubtedly make him go blind if he stared for too long. Then, to make matters worse, the distinct scent of coconut drifted toward him, meaning she was currently lathering sunscreen on said perfection.

“Fitz?” she prompted suddenly, and he straightened up and tried to look casual, as though he wasn’t dying inside because she was so bloody _gorgeous_.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t quite get my back – could you…?” He turned his head so quickly he nearly snapped his neck, and found Jemma arching her eyebrows questioningly and holding the bottle out toward him.

“Um…yeah,” he agreed, like any good friend would, and then Jemma was kneeling in front of him, displaying all of that perfect, pale, freckly skin for him. He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, clenching his eyes tightly shut as he rubbed the lotion into the skin of her back, repeating a mantra over and over in his head.

 _Friends, friends, we’re friends, I_ love _being her friend, don’t want to mess this up,_ can’t _mess this up_.

And somehow, he managed to get through it without spontaneously combusting or looking like a complete prat. “There you are,” he said with a silent sigh of relief, hastily scooting back and away from her. “All covered and protected from the sun.”

Jemma laughed, shifting around to rest against her hip and he _knew_ she wasn’t putting herself on display but _goddamn_ _it_ he was only human and he was clearly being tested. “Thank you, Fitz.”

“Sure thing.” He awkwardly played with the hem of his t-shirt, feeling even less like taking it off now that he’d seen what _Jemma_ was hiding beneath her white coat. But, she’d probably question why he wasn’t removing his shirt and jeans, so he took a deep breath and hurriedly tugged it up over his head, then unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off.

He thought he heard Jemma say something, but when he glanced up, she was intently studying the (very adorable, if he did say so himself) crimson polish on her nails, so he figured that he must’ve just caught part of a conversation from somewhere nearby. Trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, Fitz slathered on some sunscreen, not wanting to return home looking like an overripe tomato.

“Would you like some help?” Jemma asked suddenly as he bent his arm at an awkward angle to reach his exposed back.

“No,” he declined immediately, shaking his head, “I’m…er…I’m okay, thanks.” He could barely handle touching her; he definitely couldn’t handle _her_ touching _him_.

Jemma frowned a bit, and Fitz figured that she was worried he wasn’t getting full-coverage, so he worked extra hard to get the sunscreen all over before he tossed the bottle back onto the blanket and stood.

“Ready?” she asked, excited once more as she jumped up to join him.

Chuckling in fond amusement, he nodded, and Jemma led the way, hopping a bit to keep her feet off of the hot sand. As they arrived down at the shoreline, Daisy shouted over to them, “It’s about time, losers!”

“By which she means, get in, the water’s great you guys,” Trip called with a laugh that carried out across the lapping waves.

Fitz waded into the ocean, pressing his lips together as he watched Jemma cautiously dip first her toes, then her whole feet in, visibly shivering as the temperature rapidly changed from hot to cold. However, she didn’t have more than those few moments to adjust, as the next moment they were being splashed at by a smirking Daisy.

“ _Hey_!” Fitz cried, automatically bending over to cup his hand in the water and splashing it toward Daisy, who shrieked.

Then, Trip joined in, and then Jemma, and it quickly became an all-out water fight, screams and laughter mixing together as they all turned on each other – even Daisy and Trip (“all’s fair in love and war, babe,” were Daisy’s exact words).

After Daisy cheated her way to victory (by pulling the old “fake an injury to lull them into a false sense of security” move, of course), however, Fitz joined Jemma in searching the shallow water for ocean life. Much to her delight, she found a couple of little starfish, and began excitedly babbling fascinating facts about them to Fitz.

The best part, though, was the way her eyes lit up every time he presented her with something new that he’d happened upon, despite them being tiny little shells or pieces of sea glass. He could’ve spent hours under the hot sun, constantly stepping on pointed little rocks, if only to find another little prize to present her so that she’d give him that big, beautiful smile.

Eventually, though, they packed up and returned their things to Daisy’s car in order to head out onto the boardwalk to get a late lunch. After, they went window-shopping by all of the little stores set up there, and Daisy and Trip ended up a bit ahead of them, hands held between them.

Jemma was so close to Fitz, her arm was practically pressed along the length of his and he could feel the heat coming off of her through her little yellow cover dress (thank god for that – he didn’t think he could be this close if it was just the bikini). “Oh Fitz, look!” she said suddenly, pointing to one of the souvenir shops. It was even tinier than the others, and there were hand-painted shells and wind chimes made of sea glass hanging in the shop windows.

“Wanna go in?” he asked, and when she bit her lip and nodded excitedly, he called to Daisy and Trip, “Hey, we’re stopping here!”

Daisy gave a wave of acknowledgement over her shoulder, and Jemma grasped Fitz’s arm, leading him into the little shop. She let out a soft gasp as they stepped inside, where there were shelves and shelves of the little hand-made souvenirs. “Oh, they’re _beautiful_ ,” she murmured, absently squeezing his arm, which she’d yet to let go of.

“Can I help you?” the elderly woman in a flowery dress asked kindly.

“Actually, yeah,” Fitz said, leading them over to the small counter that she was sitting behind. “D’you have a shell with ‘Jemma’ on it?”

“Fitz!” Jemma tugged on his arm, her eyes shining even as she told him, “You don’t have to –”

“I want to,” he insisted, laying his free hand over Jemma’s and squeezing her fingers.

Abruptly, she turned to the woman behind the counter and said, “Alright, then I’d like one with ‘Fitz’ on it, please.”

The woman had them write the names down, and told them to return in twenty minutes, so they did a bit more sightseeing on the boardwalk before returning right on time. She presented them with the little shells, their names and the date painted on them in delicate, curvy gold lettering.

When they left the shop, Jemma was still cooing over hers, turning it over and over in her hands and studying it. “Thank you,” she said yet again, smiling up at him with so much warmth it spilled over into her eyes. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

He was pretty sure that she was joking, but _he_ wasn’t as he promised softly of his own shell, “So will I.”

They met back up with Trip and Daisy as the sun was beginning to fall low in the sky, their little group trouping back to Daisy’s car to start the trip back home, bones aching with the good kind of tired that came from a long day out with friends, laughter filling the air around them.

Jemma was all-but leaning against Fitz, and he was just thinking about maybe wrapping his arm around her shoulders (to support her, of course), when he was startled by the sudden ringing of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. He paused, double-checking that he was out of the way of passing cars as he dug his phone out and checked the screen, which read ‘Bobbi’.

A cold feeling of foreboding trickled down his spine as he answered the call, holding the phone up to his ear. “Bobbi? What’s up?” He noticed the others watching him in curious concern, and hastily stepped out of the way of a young couple with a pair of kids trying to slip by them to get to their car.

“ _Fitz…_ ” She released a heavy sigh, crackling over the line. “ _We found another body_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Vague mentions of past abuse/child abuse

Late the next week, Fitz found himself slumped on his couch, flicking through the channels at an increasingly rapid rate, but almost every channel seemed to be running reports on the case, which was now making international headlines. It was all anyone could seem to talk about – he heard little old ladies gossiping about it in the grocery lines and joggers stopped to discuss it on the sidewalks. He just couldn’t seem to have a peaceful moment of rest from the killer haunting their whole town.

Beginning to feel queasy, Fitz shut the TV off with a sigh, tossing his remote onto the coffee table and standing to grab his keys and wallet. He figured that since he couldn’t escape thoughts of the case for a few hours, he might as well do something useful and go down to the precinct. Maybe he could sort through tips or man one of the phones for the tip line.

However, just as he was picking up his phone, it went off in his hand, startling him. For a beat, he thought that it had to be someone from the precinct, calling to let him know that someone else had turned up dead. But, then he had the sense to look at the name on the screen, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the name, ‘Mum’.

“Hi Mum,” he greeted as he answered the call, using his free hand to grab his wallet and slide it into his pocket, then curling his hand around his keys.

“ _Hello Leo_ ,” she returned the greeting warmly, and he couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at his lips as her voice met his ears. They tried to speak at least twice a week, but with the case demanding his attention more often than not, they’d had less time to talk lately. “ _How are you, dear_? _Are you sleeping_?”

Fitz sighed, giving a fond roll of his eyes. “ _Mum_. I’m fine, I promise, sleeping as much as I can.” It wasn’t a lie – he really was getting as much sleep as the nightmares hiding inside his skull would allow. “How are you?”

“ _Oh I’m fine, of course. Spending most of my time worrying about you, as usual._ ”

“You shouldn’t worry so much; I can take care of myself.” When she scoffed lowly, he added with a sigh, “And I’ve got Daisy, remember?”

“ _Yes, yes, how can I forget – she’s always giving me updates on what’s going on there, which is especially helpful when my_ son _can’t seem to find the time to pick up the phone_.”

Fitz groaned, shutting his eyes and dropping his head back in exasperation. He’d _known_ it was a bad idea to introduce his mother and Daisy, but for some reason, he’d still done it and now he always seemed to be paying for that mistake. “I’ve just…I’ve been busy, okay?”

She laughed lightly at that. “ _Oh Leo, I’m only teasing; I know how hectic things have been there. So hectic, I imagine, that you’ve forgotten about the trip home you’d planned to take next week_.”

His eyes popped open as he swore under his breath. He _had_ forgotten – it was his mother’s birthday, and he’d taken the time off six months in advance to return home for it as a Christmas-slash-birthday present. “Mum…”

“ _Now, I don’t want you to worry about it, Leo. I know you’ve got quite a bit going on, and I don’t want you to have to put it all on hold just for me._ ”

“No, no,” Fitz said hastily, shaking his head. “I _want_ to, Mum. It’s been ages since I’ve been home to see you and…and it’d probably be good for me to get away for a bit, yeah? Clear my head.”

She was quiet a moment, obviously testing the sincerity of his words, before she said, “ _Alright then, I’ll be looking forward to it._ ”

“Me too,” he assured her, smiling warmly.

“ _I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, see when your flight gets in so that I know when to come pick you up_.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

There was another beat of silence, then she said seriously, “ _Be careful, Leo. I love you._ ”

“I will, Mum, and I love you too.”

-

“Wait, _what_?” Daisy asked incredulously later that night in the flat she shared with Trip, lowering the slice of greasy pizza in her hands from where it’d been positioned before her mouth. “Where are you _going_?”

Fitz rolled his eyes at Daisy’s dramatic response to his announcement of a vacation the following week. “It’s my mum’s birthday, Daisy – I’m going back home.”

She raised her eyebrows, setting her slice completely back on her plate and sparing Trip and Jemma only the briefest of glances before she scooted closer to Fitz on the living room floor. “Really?”

Trying to ignore the implication of her sudden concern, he told her pointedly, “I want you to promise me that you’ll be careful while I’m gone, okay? You see something fishy, you call for back-up, and for my sanity, please don’t try to be a hero.”

Daisy huffed in exasperation. “Yeah yeah, I know. But Fitz…” She lowered her voice and asked softly, “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m gonna be fine,” he said firmly, giving her a look that clearly said that this conversation was over. She eyed him speculatively for another moment, then nodded, sliding back over to where she’d left her plate next to Trip.

Turning away from her, Fitz happened to catch Jemma’s curious, concerned expression across the coffee table. He offered her a slight smile, and it took a moment, but eventually she returned it and entered back into the conversation Daisy and Trip were now holding.

Maybe someday, he’d find it in himself to repeat the story of his manipulative, derisive, and all-around shitty father to her. After all, she was so _easy_ to talk to; she listened and could be trusted and was so, so understanding (and when he’d told her about Ward, it had felt as though a weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders). But, not wanting to talk about his father had nothing to do with Jemma, and everything to do with the man Fitz was trying so hard to leave in his past and separate himself from completely.

Once he’d accomplished that, he’d be able to sit down with Jemma and tell her the whole story, from start to finish, and let her even further into his world; a place that he couldn’t quite stop himself from feeling that she belonged.

-

Though he still didn’t feel completely convinced that leaving was the right thing to be doing (there was a twisted feeling in his gut telling him that this was a bad idea), Fitz followed through on his pre-planned vacation, leaving bright and early the following week on a flight back home. When he arrived in Glasgow, his mother was of course there waiting at the airport, just as she’d promised she would be.

The moment that she caught sight of him, a brilliant grin spread across her face and she rushed toward him, gathering him up in her arms. “Oh, my baby boy! I’ve missed you so much – just look how you’ve grown!” And before he could get a word in, she leaned back to cup his cheeks in her hands. “What, are there no razors in America?”

Fitz groaned, flushing a bit in embarrassment as he lightly swatted her hands away from his stubbled beard. “ _Mum_ , I’m just…trying something new, okay? I thought it looked alright.”

“You look like you’ve left civilization behind and live in the woods now, Leo,” she teased, making a bit a face as she touched his prickly cheek.

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea right about now,” he sighed, reaching down to pick up his suitcase and follow her out into the parking lot.

She frowned sympathetically, her eyes shining with concern as they climbed into the car. “Tell me that you haven’t been spending _all_ of your time worrying about these murders, Leo. You’ll tire yourself out.”

“Yeah, no, I’ve been spending time with Daisy, Trip, and Jemma,” Fitz assured her, not wanting her to worry anymore than he knew she already did.

She shot him a curious look. “Alright, Daisy and Trip I know – who’s this _Jemma_?”

Swallowing a bit nervously, he pretended not to hear the implication in his mother’s voice (how did she always just seem to _know_ things? Was that a mother thing or something?). “Jemma? Uh, well, she’s a doctor, actually. In the ER. She’s friends with Trip, and we’ve all just ended up…hanging out most of the time. Keeps all of our minds off of everything.”

“Hmm.” He could tell that she didn’t buy his casual tone _at all_. “Well, that’s good, then. I’m happy to hear you’ve got good people around you, Leo.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Fortunately, his mother dropped the subject of Jemma, and they caught up a bit on the way home and then as she started lunch. However, it wasn’t long into her preparations that she started searching through cupboards and peering into the pantry before she sighed heavily and admitted, “I must’ve forgotten some of the things on my list when I popped over to the shop yesterday.” She picked up her purse from where she’d left it on the counter, and took a couple of steps toward the door, “I’ll be right back –”

Fitz cut her off, standing quickly from his seat at the table. “No, I’ll run down there for you; it was a long plane ride and it’ll be good for me to stretch my legs a bit.”

His mother hesitated a moment, but ultimately nodded in agreement. “Alright, then let me give you a list and some money.”

“Mum, I’ve got it, don’t worry,” Fitz insisted, only accepting the handwritten list from her and not the money she attempted to pass him along with it. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” he promised, then headed out the front door and started on the familiar path down the road from their cozy little house to the grocery store a couple of blocks away.

It was an odd feeling, being back home after so long away, walking down the same streets that he had as a boy when he’d never felt his age more heavily than he did nowadays. It felt as though little had changed in the tiny neighborhood that he’d grown up in, but his own life had become almost unrecognizable from what he’d imagined it would be as a boy.

Still, the fresh air and familiar scenery was definitely something he’d needed, whether he’d realized it or not, and by the time Fitz had stepped through the doors into the little store, he had an easy smile on his face. Much like the rest of the neighborhood, the small, locally-run grocery store hadn’t changed a bit since he’d left home, and it didn’t take Fitz long at all of the collect the items on his mother’s list.

But, the trip itself ended up taking far longer than he’d imagined or planned on, as almost everyone that he passed in the aisles recognized and stopped him to ask about how things were going, and of course, about the mysterious killer, which brought his good mood down just a bit. Fortunately, he managed to dodge his way out of most of the conversations, and was utterly relieved when he’d finally made it through the checkout line so that he could make his escape back home.

 “Leo?”

Fitz automatically froze at the sharp voice, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the bag of groceries tighter to his chest as whatever was left of his relaxed, easy-going mood disappeared in a blink. _Of course_. He really should have guessed that this would happen, given his truly rotten luck as of late.

 Taking a handful of deep, calming breaths, he forced down the lifetime of anger and resentment in order to allow a neutral expression to cover his face, before he finally turned to face his father for the first time in _years_. “Father.”

Cocking an eyebrow, his father took a couple of steps closer, eyeing him dismissively. “Didn’t know you were home.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that you didn’t.” A much younger Fitz would’ve never _dreamed_ of taking such a tone with his father, would’ve been far too scared of the very real consequences that would follow it; but, in that moment, it finally occurred to Fitz that he was an adult now, and he refused to be afraid of his father any longer. He had nothing to use against him, nothing to bargain with or to control; he was just a man now, one that Fitz couldn’t even seem to stand the sight of.

His father’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth tightening at the impertinence of Fitz’s words, but just as Fitz had thought, there wasn’t a single thing he could do or say to stop him. Well, except… “Been hearing ‘bout those murders in your town. It’s all over the news, boy. Don’t the Americans know how to catch a killer before he starts slaughtering children where they sleep?”

Immediately, flashes of Sarah in her bloodied princess nightgown and her savagely murdered siblings passed before his eyes, and he hastily squeezed them shut, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. He shouldn’t have been surprised that his father would bring up the case and _condemn_ him for not solving it yet, but somehow he was – he needed to start remembering that dealing with his father wasn’t the same as dealing with a rational, compassionate human being. “You don’t… Don’t act like you bloody well understand, alright? I doubt you’d do much better.”

“What’s the matter, Leo? Seeing all those bodies hasn’t toughened you up yet?” And then, he had the nerve to _chuckle_ , as though it was a joke that Fitz could barely find sleep anymore without remembering all of the blood and the unseeing eyes and the smell of _death_.

Pure rage began to bubble up inside of him then, a hatred for his father that had been growing for almost his entire life rising to the surface – but it was just as quick to fizzle out, because Fitz finally understand that his father just wasn’t _worth_ it. Fitz could break down and shout at him until blue in the face, but it wouldn’t make any difference; he’d still be the same horrible man that he always had been.

All it would do was waste his time and his breath.

So, with that in mind, Fitz unfurled his tightly clenched fist and, without another word, turned and stalked right out of the store. Even as his father called to his back, demanding that he get back there right this instant, he continued.

He wasn’t allowing his father to rule his life any longer.

-

After the run-in with his father, Fitz wasn’t up for much more socializing, and even though he tried for his mother, she picked up on it and left him alone for much of the day. By the time his head was hitting the pillow, he was so emotionally exhausted from the day, he fell right into a blissful, dead sleep.

Sometime later, though, it was broken through by a strange buzzing sound.

His immediate reaction was annoyance, and he rolled over and yanked the blankets up over his head to block the sound out. But, it kept going and going, and finally, the fog of sleep receded enough for him to realize that it was his phone.

Groggily, Fitz fumbled about on his nightstand for the offending object, almost knocking it to the floor in the process. Through bleary eyes, he checked the name on the screen, then quickly answered the call. “Jemma?”

“ _Hi Fitz_ ,” she murmured, her voice crackling across the line, and even though she was speaking quietly, he could hear the hoarseness that she was clearly trying to hide. “ _I’m sorry to…to wake you so early when you’re on vacation, but…_ ”

“What is it, Jemma?” Pressing the fingers of his free hand into the corners of his tired eyes, he struggled to sit up against his headboard. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“ _They struck again_.” Those were the only words he needed to hear, his shoulders sagging as he released a shaky sigh. But, then she went on, “ _It was a couple, but one of them… He was_ alive _, Fitz. They found him in time, and they brought him in and I…I_ tried _, but we…I lost him and…_ ”

“Oh Jemma…” Fitz breathed, dropping his head back lightly to rest against the wall as he wished desperately that he was back home, that he could offer her more than just words over the phone as comfort. “That’s not your fault, y’know? You’re an amazing doctor, but even you can’t work miracles. You’re only human.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath, and he closed his eyes tightly as he heard her sniffling. More than anything in the world, he wanted to be right there with her. He wished that he was close enough to wipe away her tears, to hold her close to chase away the demons tearing at her gentle heart. “ _He needed me to be_ more _than that though, and I couldn’t…I wasn’t enough_.”

“Don’t ever say that,” Fitz said sharply, sitting up straight and shaking his head quickly. ‘Not enough’ were words that had haunted him for a majority of his lifetime, and he _refused_ to allow the most incredible person that he’d ever known to think that of herself, to feel the way that he had. “Jemma, you are _more_ than enough, okay? You’re…” _Everything_. “You’re such a compassionate, giving, wonderful person, and I know that you did everything you could – and likely _more_ – to save that man. But, it was just more than you, or anyone else, could’ve fixed, and sometimes that just happens and it’s…it’s horrible, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“ _I hate feeling helpless_ ,” Jemma admitted, sounding so small and vulnerable that it tugged at his heartstrings.

“I know,” Fitz murmured. “So do I. S’why this whole damn case has been weighing on me the way it has. None of us can seem to do a damn thing to stop this sick bastard. _But_ , you can’t blame yourself for anything that happened to that man tonight, okay? You weren’t the one who attacked him, you weren’t the one who so carelessly took his life – you tried your hardest to _save_ it.”

She breathed out quietly, then asked, “ _You think so_?”

“I know so,” he told her firmly. “I know you, Jemma, and I know you’d never do anything but your absolute best.”

“ _Thank you, Fitz_.”

A little smile ticked his lips up at the corners. “’Course. I told you I was always here to talk, didn’t I?”

And, unlike the morning that he’d called her in distress and in need of someone to lean on for a bit, this time they talked until the sun was high in the sky and it was mid-morning for him, early morning for her.

“ _I think I should try and get at least a bit of sleep_ ,” Jemma said finally, even though she sounded reluctant to do so. Fitz couldn’t help but wonder if she’d find sleep easier if he was there with her, to hold her and protect her from the nightmares while she slept.

But, that wasn’t a very _friend-like_ thing to think, so he pushed the thought out of his mind and told her, “Just call if you need anything, okay? I mean it, Jemma.”

“ _Even though I’d hate to interrupt your time with your mum, I promise that I will_.” There was a beat, then she murmured softly, her voice already seeming heavy with exhaustion, “ _Thank you so much, Fitz. I don’t… I’m not sure what I would’ve done without you._ ”

His heart caught a bit in his throat, and he had to close his eyes for a moment as emotion and affection for her washed over him, so strong that it threatened to drown him. “I know exactly what you would’ve done – persevered, because you can get through anything, Jemma. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as strong or as determined as you.”

At first all he could hear was the sound of her breathing as it hitched a bit, then she said softly, “ _Well, as long as one of us believes it, then I’ll do my best. Goodbye, Fitz._ ”

“’Bye Jemma.” A bit grudgingly, he pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call, finally climbing out of bed and going downstairs to where his mother no doubt had breakfast ready in the kitchen.

And sure enough, she was at the stove, flipping pancakes, eggs and bacon cooking in separate pans. “Good morning, Leo,” she called over her shoulder.

“’Morning, Mum,” he replied, taking a seat at the table. A few minutes later, she turned to hand him a plate of food, and he caught sight of the strangely… _knowing_ smile on her face. “Mum?” he asked warily as he accepted the plate from her.

But, she just continued to smile, shaking her head at his question and taking her own plate to sit across from him.

 _Strange_ , Fitz thought to himself, but he brushed it off as his mum just being _his mum_ , and focused instead on having his mother’s cooking again for the first time in ages. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t important, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	8. Chapter 8

“Fitz!”

As Daisy caught sight of him entering the station a few days later, she jumped up, hurrying over to meet him. “Hey Daisy,” he greeted, giving her a weary smile. He’d spent the morning trying to sleep off the ache left in his bones from the lost sleep, now accompanied by jetlag, but he’d ended up mostly tossing and turning and eventually decided to give up and just head over to the precinct instead. “You stay safe while I was gone?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Bobbi called from her desk, arching an eyebrow at Daisy’s exasperated groan.

“What did you do?” Fitz asked her seriously, planting his hands on his hips. “Do I even want to know?”

“Bobbi’s exaggerating,” Daisy insisted, shaking her head. “All I did was break up a street fight between a couple of kids.” She shot a cursory glance around them, grasping his wrist and leading him down an empty hall. Keeping her voice low, she explained, “One of them was Werner von Strucker – y’know, Wolfgang von Strucker’s kid?” When Fitz nodded in understanding, she went on, “The other kid was Robbie Reyes, a high school drop-out from the bad side of town, so no one seems to believe him, but Fitz, he says the von Strucker kid knows something about the murders.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows in surprise, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone before he leaned in and asked lowly, “What’s May make of it?”

“She was trying to interview him, but he refuses to talk until a lawyer and his father are present.” She released a frustrated sigh. “I’m just so _sick_ of getting shut down at every turn – it needs to end _now_. Did you hear about –”

“The man brought in still alive?” Fitz guessed. “Yeah, I spoke to Jemma.”

Daisy looked surprised, leaning back a bit to study him carefully. “Oh? Was that why she was feeling better the next morning? Because Trip and I couldn’t figure out her sudden mood change when she was so distraught the night before, but if she talked to _you_ , then it makes complete sense.”

Fitz sighed in exasperation, folding his arms over his chest and giving Daisy a look. “ _Yes_ , I did talk to her, alright? But you’re making it out to be something it’s not, Daisy. Please just drop it already.”

She seemed about to say more (if the smug smirk on her face was any indication), but at that moment, Wolfgang von Strucker came striding by, nearly bowling them right over. They shared a glance, then hurried to follow him, watching as he brushed past Coulson and burst right into the interview room where May sat with his son.

Only moments later, he reappeared, one hand gripping his son’s shoulder as he led him out of the precinct, both their heads held high – and the younger von Strucker smirking triumphantly.

May stepped out of the interview room after them, her lips pressed into a tight line. “What just happened?” Daisy asked her incredulously.

“I think you know, Officer Johnson,” May said flatly, exchanging a frustrated glance with Coulson before turning to head back to the office they’d designated for her while she was there helping with the case.

However, something occurred to Fitz then and he hastened to follow her. “Agent May?”

She paused outside her door, turning back to face him and arching an eyebrow in question. “Yes?”

“I was just…uh…wondering…” He cleared his throat, trying his level best not to be intimidated by the sharp gaze she had on him. “What did you and Coulson make of that information I passed along about Gideon Malick? He is a business associate of Wolfgang von Strucker, after all.”

One of May’s eyebrows jumped up a bit, and she eyed him speculatively for a moment, then said, “We never got that information, Officer Fitz.”

“You…what?” He blinked in confusion, wondering how that could be at all possible. “Lieutenant Garrett took it from me, said he was going to be meeting with you and Coulson so he’d pass it along for me.”

May pursed her lips, then reached into her pocket and produced a plain white business card from it. She handed it to him and said, “If you find any other pertinent information, you can inform me directly from now on.”

And with that, she opened the door to her office and disappeared into it. Fitz glanced down at the card in his hand, seeing May’s name and a phone number typed out beneath it. Figuring that it’d be easier to find on his phone rather than a card, he began to enter it into his contacts, and was just finishing up when he received a group text sent out by Daisy.

 _From: Daisy_  
_To: Fitz, Trip, Jemma_  
 _Dinner at Fitzy’s tonight to celebrate his return to us!!_

Wait. _What?!_

-

Not even taking the time to do more than throw Daisy a dirty look, Fitz had immediately returned home to begin a frantic cleaning of his flat. He almost never had people over (and when he did, it was usually Daisy welcoming herself in, as usual), and with his preoccupation with work lately, it’d gotten even worse than normal. There were dirty dishes piling up in the sink and randomly around the living room, clothes strewn about virtually _everywhere_.

Of course, he didn’t think it’d be too big of an issue; he’d seen the flat Daisy used to have before she moved in with Trip, and so had _Trip_ for that matter, so he knew neither of them was much bothered by a messy flat. It was just _Jemma_ , really, that he was worried about. He didn’t want her to think he was some kind of slob, after all.

As he hastily shoved stray socks and crumpled t-shirts into his hamper, he thought dryly to himself that _yes_ , it was his dirty laundry – _that_ would definitely be the reason why Jemma wouldn’t want to be with him.

Shaking his head at himself and his ridiculous inability to rid himself of his annoying, pathetic feelings for Jemma, Fitz finished cleaning just as there was a knock on his door.

Thanking his lucky stars for the fortunate timing, he hurried to open the door, allowing Daisy to barge her way in (as usual), towing Trip along behind her. He gave Fitz an apologetic grin, but Fitz shrugged it off, and his attention quickly shifted to Jemma, who stepped inside after Trip.

As she glanced around curiously, he cleared his throat and admitted apologetically, “I haven’t been around much to clean lately, so…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Jemma told him with a warm smile, turning from her inspection of his flat to meet his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, Fitz.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s good to see you too, Jemma.” He wanted to say that he’d missed her, but alarm bells rang in his head, telling him that that would be crossing a line that he shouldn’t be crossing, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he led her over to the couch in his living room, where Daisy and Trip had already made themselves comfortable. “So…what did you want to get for dinner?” he asked the room at large.

“Lemme see…” Daisy pulled out her phone then, scrolling through the special contact list she’d made, containing only restaurants and takeout places. She closed her eyes and swiped her thumb over the screen, randomly stopping it on one of the contacts. “Looks like…Thai food. Sound good?”

There were murmurs of agreement, so Daisy hit the ‘call’ button and put in their order. Then, while they were waiting for the food to be delivered, she put the TV on some game show, and she and Trip proceeded to become immersed in it, shouting answers at the screen and growing a little too serious about the whole thing.

However, Fitz blocked most of it out, instead focusing on Jemma, who had joined him in his move from the living room to the kitchen table, where it was at least a smidge quieter.

“How was your trip?” she asked curiously. “I know it’s been ages since I’ve been home – it must’ve been so nice to see your family again.”

Fitz gave a quiet scoff, thinking back over the encounter with his father that he’d rather just forget about. “Yeah, it was nice seeing my mum. Not so much anyone else.”

Jemma frowned, arching a curious brow. “Oh? Was everything alright?”

“Just…just my father being his typical self,” Fitz explained, coming as close to sharing the details of their twisted relationship with her as he dared just then. It wasn’t the time or the place to have that kind of in-depth conversation with her, but, now that he was allowing himself to take steps toward moving past the situation, he felt that maybe…if the time was right, he’d tell her about it someday. Perhaps even someday soon, if the moment arose. “But, it’s all sorted now, and the rest of my time at home was good. Seems as though my mum had a pretty great birthday.”

“Well, that’s good.” She was smiling, but he could see the concern still swimming in the depths of her eyes. Fortunately, he knew she wouldn’t press him when it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, and it was one of the things Fitz loved and appreciated most about Jemma (as a friend, of course, because that’s what they were).

“Yeah.” Wanting to get off the subject of his trip home, though, Fitz asked gently, “Hey, how are you? After…”

Jemma gave a quiet sigh, dropping her gaze to watch her hands wring together on the tabletop. “I’m…I’m better. It’s still difficult, of course, but…” She lifted her eyes then, meeting his gaze from beneath her lashes. “But, talking to you certainly helped. Thank you again, Fitz, _truly_.”

He waved off her gratitude, shaking his head. “No, don’t worry about it; I was just returning the favor. I owed you one free early morning phone call, after all.”

She laughed softly at his joke, fixing him with a smile that had his heart skipping a beat in his chest. “Just one?”

Swallowing a bit roughly, Fitz tried his hardest to sound casual as he replied, “Ah, well, I suppose I could look the other way if you wanted to slip in one or two extra.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that Jemma’s expression just then was _coy_ , so he knew that he had to misinterpreting _something_. “Good to know.”

He began to flounder then for something else to say that wasn’t a desperate plea for her affection, but luckily, there was a knock on the door before he could blurt out a marriage proposal or something equally insane. “Food’s here!” Daisy cried, jumping up from the couch and hurrying to open the door for the delivery person.

A few minutes later, after everything had been dished out onto their respective plates, Fitz glanced up to find that he’d ended up positioned adjacent Jemma at the table – in the perfect position to study her without her notice. He felt like a right creep, but he’d missed her during the few days he’d been away, and somehow, it seemed as though she’d only gotten _more_ beautiful since he’d last seen her – if such a thing was even possible.

But, no matter how hard it was, Fitz had to remember that he was trying to _get over_ his feelings, not encourage them. So, he forced himself not to linger too long on the way her mouth moved when she spoke, to press his lips together to hide a fond smile as she gave that familiar roll of her eyes, to fight the urge to reach out and brush the loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. Instead, he focused simply on what she was saying, like any good _friend_ would.

“I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately,” she was in the process of explaining, answering some question Trip had asked that Fitz hadn’t heard, “In fact, I’ve been dead exhausted. But, my dishwasher’s broken, you see, so I’ve been forced to wash all of my dishes by hand after I get off work or it’ll drive me absolutely crazy! I keep meaning to ring a mechanic, but I haven’t had a spare moment to do so, what with everything going on lately.”

Before Jemma was even fully finished speaking, Daisy was nearly jumping out her seat in excitement, her eyes big and round as she happily informed Jemma, “Fitz is _fantastic_ with machines! He even fixed my dryer for free last week. Well okay, not for free because I fed him, but it was way cheaper than some scam-artist mechanic you found online.”

Fitz shot Daisy a narrow-eyed glare across the table for her latest attempt to meddle in his friendship with Jemma, but then he noticed Jemma turning to face him, so he quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral. Her eyebrows were raised in pleasant surprise, and he cleared his throat, shrugging awkwardly as he offered, “I can take a look at it for you, if you’d like.”

Almost instantly, that big beaming grin of hers that he loved spread across her face, and she happily agreed, “Oh yes, please! Oh Fitz, you’re saving my _life_ – and any chance of me retaining some kind of a sleep schedule, of course.”

He could feel a blush heating his cheeks, and he quickly ducked his head so that she couldn’t see how her adorable praise had affected him. “No problem. Uh…what time works best for you?”

“Would you mind terribly if we do it tomorrow? I’m not sure I can go another day like this. I’m afraid my hands will stay permanently pruned,” she teased, though he knew that she was well aware that that was scientifically impossible.

“Yeah yeah, sure, that’s fine.” When he felt her gentle, cool fingers resting over his on the tabletop, he quickly glanced up in time to see the way that her eyes were shining with gratitude.

The next breath into Fitz’s lungs came with a bit of difficulty and his heart was beating a tad more quickly than should be normal.  As he was trying to get full functionality to return to his pesky organs, he thought absently that he’d do anything just to make her happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Vague mentions of past abuse/child abuse

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Fitz took another deep breath and reminded himself that he was only there to fix her dishwasher, that was it. When it didn’t work and his nerves refused to dissipate in the slightest, he let out a defeated sigh and finally raised his fist to just knock on the door already and get it over with.

He waited for a long moment, but when the door didn’t open nor did he hear a single noise on the other side of it, his lips pulled down into a frown as he dug through his pocket for the napkin Jemma had scrawled her address on the night before. In all the months now that they’d been friends, he’d never been to Jemma’s flat, given that they always seemed to end up at Daisy and Trip’s or at a nearby restaurant instead, so he couldn’t be sure that he was even at the right place.

His fingers had just closed around the wrinkled napkin when the door swung open, and Jemma appeared, slightly out of breath but beaming regardless. Her hair was up in a casually messy bun and her face was mostly clean of makeup, but it was her clothes that caught his attention.

It was the middle of the summer, and the heat had been nearly unbearable lately, so they really shouldn’t have been noteworthy, but because they were on _Jemma_ , her pale purple tank top and jean shorts were enough to make the hallway outside her flat feel about ten degrees hotter than it had been a moment ago.

Swallowing thickly and reminding himself that he was a _gentleman for Christ’s sake_ , Fitz managed to ask, “Er…hey, is this a bad time?”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Jemma hastened to assure him, stepping back and waving him inside. “I was just doing some cleaning in my closet. I have zero storage space left, and I figured that I could make some room in there by taking out what I don’t need.” Shrugging it off, she said brightly, “Kitchen’s this way.”

As she led him through her sparsely-furnished, tiny flat, Fitz noted the dozens and dozens of books covering every conceivable surface. A small, fond grin curved his lips as he realized _why_ she had so little storage space, and that instead of downsizing her personal library, she chose to empty out her closet. It was a very _Jemma_ -like thing to do, and he found it impossibly endearing.

“I hate having to take time out of your day,” she was saying, and she paused as they arrived in the little kitchenette, turning to face him with a worried frown, her hands hooked around the back of her neck. “But the situation was getting rather dire, and well…really, if you hadn’t offered to fix it, I likely would’ve stopped using dishware altogether.”

With a chuckle, Fitz set his toolbox (which his father had always made a big deal about, often wondering aloud and quite rudely why a cop would need such a thing) down and knelt in front of the dishwasher. “I guess I got here just in time then.”

“I guess that you did.” He glanced at her briefly over his shoulder to find that she’d taken a seat at her kitchen table and had her legs pulled up on the chair, arms wrapped loosely around them. It was a somewhat familiar position, one that he’d seen her take several times while they were lounging on the floor of Trip and Daisy’s living room watching movies or eating dinner, and he’d always found in entirely adorable (in a friendly way, of course).

Not long after he’d gotten to work, Jemma questioned hesitantly, a clear tinge of concern in her voice, “Do I dare ask how the case is going?”

With his back turned to her as it was, Fitz felt safe giving into his grimace at the question. As it was more often than not, the case was the very last thing he wanted to think about, let alone talk about. But, it was Jemma asking, and he knew of all people she wouldn’t press him for details, since she already knew most of them anyway. “Probably best not to,” he replied with a tired sigh, giving a little shake of his head. “Not much to tell.”

Jemma released a sigh of her own, and even without looking at her, Fitz could clearly picture the way her shoulders would be drooping just then, even as her brows were drawing together angrily over her narrowed eyes. “I just…I can’t believe that someone so twisted and…and _disgusting_ is still walking our streets, hurting our neighbors. I wish there was more that we could do – I feel so helpless, all the time…” She let out a short, humorless laugh as she added, “But I don’t think I need to tell you how that feels.”

“No, I’d say not,” Fitz agreed dryly. “I’m quite familiar with the feeling by now.”

“Well, I have no doubt that with all the hard work and effort you’re all putting into it, you’ll find whoever it is and stop them, hopefully soon.”

Thinking to himself that Jemma was much more confident in his abilities than he was, Fitz’s lips twisted into a self-deprecating frown even as he agreed lowly, “Yeah, soon.”

Silence descended between them for a long moment then, only broken by the sound of his tools clanking as he reached into his toolbox to return one or grab another. However, then Jemma spoke up once more, asking curiously, “How did you get so good with machines, Fitz?”

For a beat, he didn’t reply, allowing the silence to fall between them for another lengthy moment, though it certainly was no longer the easy silence that it had been.

Finally, he inhaled a slightly shaky breath, briefly closing his eyes, taking a beat to gather himself. Then, trying his best to keep his tone even and casual, he answered, “Well, I’ve always had a knack for it, really. For a bit, I thought I’d go to school for engineering, but…” As he trailed off, Fitz took another moment to prepare himself for opening old wounds, but now seemed as good a time as any to get into it, so he went on, “My dad had other plans for me though, insisting that I join the police force instead. He was always like that, controlling my life, making my decisions for me…wasn’t even in my life much, but it still belonged to him I suppose.”

Jemma was quiet at first, and Fitz knew that she was soaking in the new information and likely thinking back on the few times he’d mentioned his father. “That’s why you weren’t happy to see him when you went home last week, isn’t it?” she guessed, her voice soft and understanding in the way only she could be.

“Yeah, that’s why,” he confirmed with a heavy sigh, gritting his teeth as the age-old resentment began to resurface a bit, despite his resolution not to let his father rule his life any longer. “He always wanted me to be _more_ , to fit this…this image of the perfect son that he had in his head, but I never seemed to measure up. I was never enough in his eyes, and the choices I made were never the right ones, so…goodbye to my dreams of engineering and hello police academy.” He gave a fierce roll of his eyes, unable to help himself as he added in a bitter mutter, “At least machines wouldn’t have tried to shoot me in the bloody head.”

Almost immediately, he heard her suck in a sharp breath, and it hit him all at once what he’d just said, the fog of resentment clearing as he winced sharply. Acknowledging how unintentionally callous his words had been, Fitz pulled his head out of the dishwasher to glance over at her and felt a surge of incredible guilt at the horror on her face.

 “God Jemma, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“It’s alright,” Jemma cut in to assure him, even though her voice was rather faint as she shook her head. Fitz, however, could tell that it _wasn’t_ alright. After all, he knew her quite well now, and even if he didn’t, the tight clench of her fingers where they were wrapped around her ankles would’ve been a dead giveaway.

The very last thing that he wanted to do was push her into talking about something that clearly upset her, though, so he simply accepted her response and let it go. He spared her one last concerned glance, then went back to working on the dishwasher.

After that, it was pretty quiet between them, and Fitz couldn’t help but be upset with himself – it was all because of him and his big dumb mouth. Giving a small shake of his head, he thought dryly to himself that _this_ was one of the biggest reasons he had against asking Jemma out (other than the fact that she was his _friend_ and that was it); he was sure to muck it all up within moments, and though he really hadn’t known her that long in the grand scheme of things, he’d known for some time now that he just couldn’t lose her in his life.

It wasn’t much longer before he’d finished up, standing from his place on the floor and stretching a bit. “All set,” he informed her, shutting the door and even pressing the ‘rinse’ button to prove it to her.

Jemma gasped in delight, and he glanced over in time to see her jumping up from her seat at the table and clasping her hands. Her eyes were shining as though he’d just presented her with the damn _moon_ , not simply fixed her dishwasher (for the record, he _would_ give her the moon if she asked him to – and if it was physically possible), and it just reminded him of one of the things that he loved most about Jemma. Though she could be stern and distant and practical when the situation called for it, the simplest things seemed to bring her the most joy, making no gesture seem too small.

“Oh _Fitz_! Thank you so much!” As soon as the words had left her mouth, though, it inexplicably pulled down into a frown. Her hands dropped dejectedly to her sides, and he was about to ask what was wrong when her lips curled into a self-deprecating smile as she sighed, “I’d offer to make you something for lunch, but I’m an atrocious cook.”

Fitz was briefly surprised by the admission, since it was something he hadn’t known and had never thought to ask her about, and he focused on collecting the last of his tools to return to his toolbox as he thought the situation over a moment.

When he was finished, he rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck and didn’t quite meet her eyes as he offered awkwardly, “I could um…try my hand at lunch.” Pausing for a moment, he admitted with a shrug, “My mum fancies herself a chef, and spent pretty much my entire life teaching me how to make practically gourmet meals.”

After he’d finished speaking, Fitz dared to take a peek at her expression and he saw the brief flicker of what he thought was temptation cross her face, but then she replied quickly and firmly, “Absolutely not. You’ve just saved my poor pruning hands – I refuse to benefit from another of your secret skills today. Besides, I have to give you _something_ in return.”

Almost immediately, a tense silence seemed to fall between them, and Fitz was entirely conscious of the fact that he was staring at her but he just couldn’t seem to look away. Strangely though, it appeared, as though Jemma couldn’t quite manage to drop her gaze either.

His brain was in overdrive, thinking over all sorts of _somethings_ that Jemma could give him in return for fixing her dishwasher, and the images were enough to make a blush burn hotly across his skin (though he was pretty sure that the heated blush had nothing to do with the way he was suddenly quite warm under the collar). Even as he mentally scolded himself for forgetting about being a gentleman and that he’d promised himself he’d stop thinking about Jemma like that, he just couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head.

Much to his disbelief, there appeared to be some kind of heat behind Jemma’s gaze like he was sure there was in his own – but the idea was so preposterous he knew that it was probably just wishful thinking on his part. What else could it have possibly been, really?

And sure enough, it was a brief moment later that Jemma broke the tension, whirling away from him and hurrying toward the counter, her hands almost flailing about as she listed at a rapid-fire pace that he’d only heard her use when she was nervous, “Well let’s see, I have some frozen pizza that’s been in my freezer since the week I moved into my flat, and I don’t want to poison you so that’s probably out. I might have enough ingredients for sandwiches, which are about all I can manage, I’m afraid. Though there’s always the option to get takeaway, which of course will be my treat. Or –”

Afraid of how long she’d ramble on if he didn’t stop her, Fitz hastily cut in, “Sandwiches are fine, thanks. But I’m not just gonna bloody sit and watch you make lunch, so you’ll have to at least let me help.”

Jemma’s shoulders almost appeared to tense for a moment, and Fitz felt a sudden flash of fear that she didn’t want to spend any more time with him than was necessary, and that she was desperate to get him out of her flat and was only offering him lunch to be nice. However, they quickly relaxed, and she shot him an easy smile over her shoulder. “Oh alright, I suppose I can allow that.”

And so, Fitz joined her at the counter, and they worked together to fix lunch. It was entirely effortless, with them never once bumping into each other or needing to finish their requests for ingredients, all while never losing the thread of their conversation.

He tried not to, but Fitz couldn’t help but think about how absolutely perfect the easy domesticity was between them, even though they’d never done anything of the sort together. It was that, right there, with them, that he couldn’t seem to stop himself from so desperately wanting.

But, they were _friends_ , and friends could get along just as effortlessly as he and Jemma did and it didn’t have to mean anything, no matter what his traitorous brain seemed to think.

Lunch went just as well, conversation flowing as naturally as ever with laughter frequently filling the tiny flat, and Fitz ruminated on how… _nice_ it always was to spend time with just Jemma. No matter how much he liked Daisy and Trip, there was just something about the times when he and Jemma could focus solely on each other, and of course, he didn’t have to worry about Daisy sharing some embarrassing story about him (of which there were plenty).

When it soon came time for him to leave, Fitz was loathe to do so, as being with Jemma was how he would prefer to while away the rest of the day, and most likely every day for the rest of his life as well. However, he wanted to see if he could get a nap in before his shift later that night, since he still hadn’t been getting near enough sleep lately, most of the time barely managing enough to function.

So, he grabbed his toolbox and made a move in the direction of the door, but Jemma hastily jumped up from her seat to show him out, even though the flat wasn’t that big (he’d be the last to complain about spending just a few more seconds with her, though). After he’d opened the door and stepped into the doorway, he turned back to face Jemma, prepared to thank her for lunch. However, the words froze on his tongue when he found her far closer than he’d expected, her gaze once more locked with his.

Even though no words passed between them, Fitz could feel that same tension from earlier hanging in the air, though incredibly, it seemed to be even heavier this time around, making it hard for him to get a full breath into his lungs.

He just barely heard what sounded like her taking a sharp intake of air, and _holy Jesus Christ on a cracker_ she appeared to be _leaning in_ toward him.

Fitz wanted to lean in too, wanted to take her against him and kiss the lips that haunted his dreams and finally find out what she sounded like moaning in pleasure against his mouth as he deepened the kiss – but a great wave of terror washed over him, gluing him to his spot. He was terrified that he was simply imagining things and would ruin their friendship by kissing her, terrified that he _wasn’t_ and would _still_ somehow find a way to ruin what they had, and just plain _terrified_.

So, forcing his limbs to unfreeze, he told her in a rushed tone, “Thanks for lunch, and just let me know if anything ever needs fixing. See you later, Jemma.” And with that, he bolted, not even giving her a chance to respond.

As soon as he was out of the hallway, down the two flights of stairs, and out the door of the building, Fitz stopped on the sidewalk, sucking in a deep breath. It was only then that he let out a groan, closing his eyes and dropping his head back as he muttered to himself, “You utter _wanker_. You pathetic _fool_. God, you’re _never_ gonna get another chance like that with her.” Dropping his head back down and shaking it, he gave a long sigh. “No wonder Daisy makes fun of me all the time. I’m a right _moron_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	10. Chapter 10

“And you didn’t kiss her?! Fitz, you moron, she was only giving you about a hundred signals that she was interested and you shut her down!”

Fitz gritted his teeth and tried to block out Daisy’s voice, only made more loud and annoying by the confines of their squad car. He wondered how it was that he always made the mistake of sharing so much of his life with her, how it was that she always managed to get secrets out of him so easily. It was like some kind of goddamn superpower (though he figured that if Daisy were to ever end up with a superpower somehow, it’d be something a lot more destructive and “ _cool_ ” than forcing people to tell the truth).

Mercifully, he was saved from having to respond to her criticism when he pointed out, “Oh look, we’re here.” He stopped the car next to the curb, hurriedly climbing out of it.

Luckily for him, Daisy let it go (for now) in favor of putting her game face on and focusing on the robbery in progress they’d been called in to deal with at a local convenience store, looking for a suspect that was only described as “white male, average height, wearing a dark sweatshirt”.

Quickly but cautiously, hands already hovering over their holstered guns, they moved closer to the store, where Fitz glimpsed the clerk peeking over the counter through the glass storefront, which had to mean that the suspect was no longer inside.

Sure enough, a moment later he spotted something moving through the dark shadows around the building, a well-timed flash of a passing car’s headlights revealing a man in a black sweatshirt and jeans rushing away from them. “There!” he called to Daisy, hurrying to pursue.

They chased him for about a block and a half before he darted down an alley that Fitz was relieved to find was a dead-end, blocked off by a tall chain-link fence. “Freeze!” Daisy cried, leveling her gun at the suspect, “You’re under arrest!”

The suspect, who’s back had been to them, didn’t raise his hands like he should’ve, but his hands _did_ move, though Fitz couldn’t quite see what they were doing in the inky black darkness of the shadowed alley.

It was then that Daisy yelled, “Get down!”, but he didn’t have even a second to follow the order before he went stumbling back for some reason that was completely beyond him. Wildly, he wondered if Daisy had tackled him to _force_ him down.

Then, the stinging, burning, _aching_ pain in his shoulder hit him all at once, accompanied by a nausea curling in his stomach that was so strong, he was sure for a moment that he was going to be sick. His head felt dizzy and blurry, and he didn’t even realize that he’d caught himself on a nearby wall until he felt the scraping of the rough brick against his exposed neck.

He could hear the fence rattling, and figured that the suspect was trying to get away and he wanted to do something, anything to stop him but his hands refused to cooperate, one numb with adrenalin and the other searing with pain radiating down from his shoulder. The sounds of the suspect fleeing were suddenly cut off with a _bang_ , and though it lit his shoulder on fire, he turned in time to see the man dropping like a rock and howling in pain as he clutched at his right leg.

Daisy appeared in the picture then, yanking the man’s arms behind his back and cuffing his wrists, ignoring his pleas and whimpers for help. Once he’d been taken care of, Daisy rushed over to Fitz, and as her hands cupped his sweaty cheeks, he could feel them trembling. Her wide, wild eyes did a frantic search of his shoulder, and in a shaking, hurried voice, she told him, “It’s just a graze, Fitz. You’re going to be just fine, okay? Nothing to worry about. Just a graze.”

She refused to leave his side after that, even when the ambulance she’d radioed for arrived not long after. When they had gotten the suspect inside of it and he’d refused their offer to have another sent over for him when it could be used for someone that really needed it, an upset Daisy herded him into the passenger seat of their squad car, the towel he’d been handed pressed tightly to his shoulder to stem the bleeding.

Despite her constant assurances that his injury wasn’t that bad, Daisy drove like a maniac in her haste to get him to the hospital, turning on the lights and siren even after he’d insisted that that was abuse of power. However, he was also fading pretty fast from the awful pain and the sight of so much blood soaking the towel and his hands and Daisy’s hands and his uniform.

By the time they arrived at the hospital and Daisy performed the worst parking job he’d ever seen, he was nearly unconscious and she was forced to half-carry, half-drag him inside. Apart from the memory of her shouts for some “ _freaking help over here_ ” echoing in his ears, it was all a bit of a blur from there.

The next thing that he knew, Fitz’s shoulder had been stitched up and dressed by the congenial Dr. Mackenzie, who had insisted on being called Mack and distracted Fitz from the pain by talking to him like they were old friends.

“Alright, you’re good to go, buddy,” Mack informed him with a warm smile, giving his good shoulder a friendly pat. His smile morphed into a stern expression then, and he arched an eyebrow and pointed at Fitz as he reminded him, “Remember to take your pain meds for the next couple of weeks, alright?”

“I will,” Fitz assured him with a quick nod, not wanting to get on the very nice but quite intimidating doctor’s bad side.

Mack’s easy grin was back in a moment, and he patted Fitz’s shoulder again. “Alright then. Have a good rest of your night, Fitz.”

“You too,” he called to Mack’s back as he left the room, getting a wave of acknowledgement from the other man before the door closed behind him. Gingerly, Fitz climbed down from the bed, grabbing his shirt from where it’d been set off to the side. Slowly and painfully, he began to attempt to put it back on.

However, just then, the door to his room burst open and Jemma appeared, still in her scrubs and white coat, her stricken face nearly as white. She shut the door behind her, leaning heavily against it and staring at him wordlessly. Her eyes were wide with horror, and they appeared almost glassy-looking, as though she was fighting tears.

Startled and a bit confused by her abrupt appearance, and suddenly feeling very exposed with his shirt off, Fitz attempted once more to put it on. But, after a moment, he gave up the effort and asked her in concern, “Jemma? Are you alright?”

At first, his only response was an incredulous look from her that very clearly stated that she was questioning his sanity. Then, however, she told him dryly but with a hint of a tremble in her voice, “Fitz, you’ve just been _shot_ , and you’re asking me if _I’m_ alright?”

As though he’d forgotten about it (and for a moment, he kind of had – pain meds did work wonders), he glanced down at his bandaged shoulder. Though, he was really just taken by surprise that his gunshot was what had her so upset, even though he had to admit that it seemed to be the logical answer.

Now that he knew what was upsetting her, he could try to offer her comfort, so he said offhandedly, “Oh _that_? It’s fine, just a graze.” He made sure to leave out that for “just a graze” it had hurt _a lot_ because he didn’t think that would make her feel any better.

Jemma shook her head at him in disbelief, lifting one visibly trembling hand to run her fingers through her hair, and ignored what he’d said completely as she admitted lowly, “I had to treat the man that shot you.” Fitz’s eyebrows rose at the admission, and he nearly opened his mouth to ask if the guy was alright, even though he’d _shot_ him. However, before he could, Jemma looked away from him, refusing to meet his eyes as she added even more quietly, “I didn’t want to treat him. I wanted him to…to continue to _suffer_ for hurting you.” Her eyes slammed shut then, and she whirled away from him, crying out almost desperately, “I’m a _doctor_ , goddamnit! I’m not supposed to be biased! But how can I remain impassive when that man had hurt _you_?!”

Fitz was taken aback, as he’d never seen Jemma anything _close_ to this upset before and it was tugging at his heart, making it ache terribly. It was made especially hard for him to watch when he knew she was only feeling this way because of _him_ , so he attempted to reassure her again, “Jemma, I’m alright. There’s no need to worry.”

Abruptly, she swung back around to face him, and she seemed to study him for a moment, her eyes darting to and away from and back to and away again from his shoulder before she took a deep breath and said shakily, “When I heard you’d been shot, all I could think about was earlier today, when you said that machines wouldn’t try to shoot your brains out, and I just…”

Wincing, Fitz closed his eyes on a brief groan as he silently admitted that that hadn’t been his finest moment. Once more, he attempted to calm her down, gently reminding her, “But it _wasn’t_ my brains. It was just my shoulder, and it’ll be all healed up before you know it.”

Jemma most certainly _wasn’t_ placated by his admittedly lacking try for comfort, and instead only seemed to grow angry once again. “Perhaps _this_ time it wasn’t,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing into a fierce glare, “but what about next time?” All of her anger and fire appeared to drain out of her in the next moment, almost like the air being let out of a balloon, and her shoulders sagged as tears made her eyes shine under the fluorescent lighting of the hospital room. Her voice just barely above a whisper, she pleaded, “Fitz, I need you to be careful because I don’t think I can go through this again.”

Then, she took a step closer to him, her gaze finding his and effortlessly keeping it captive for the third time that day. With just a few more tiny steps from her, they were close, _so close_ , and his breath caught in his throat.

Before Fitz even knew what was happening, they were both leaning in, the big brown eyes that seemed to have the entire universe waiting in them drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He was giving in, he accepted what was going to happen, consequences be damned. He was no longer afraid, he wasn’t going to make run for it or allow his insecurities to get the better of him – he could see it written plainly on her face and so he knew that _somehow_ , in this moment, she wanted this just as much as he did.

His eyelids slowly fell shut as she began to slowly fill his entire field of vision, and he could feel the soft brushing of her breath against his lips, a shudder going through him at how close she was. It was actually going to happen, after so many months spent dreaming of what it’d be like to kiss Jemma, after so long spent working to constantly remind himself of the fact that there would never be more between them, after only falling more deeply for her once he’d gotten to know her as a friend…

  _It was actually happening_.

Their lips just barely met in the barest brushes when an eerily familiar sound broke through the fog that had clouded his brain.

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

Fitz and Jemma flew apart, reacting immediately to the sound of gunshots somewhere out in the hallway. Only sparing a moment to grab his gun from where he’d laid it aside to get stitched up, he followed Jemma out of the room, both sprinting down the hall at a breakneck pace.

Once they’d turned the corner, she came to an abrupt halt, and Fitz nearly rammed into her, only just managing to stop himself in time. It took him a mere moment more to see what had caused her to pause, and he watched in horror as she threw herself onto her knees beside a badly bleeding nurse slumped against the wall.

Even though he wanted to stay and help the nurse (and also keep Jemma safe from whoever had hurt the nurse in the first place, though he knew without her ever having to say a word that Jemma would be furious with him for thinking that she needed protection), his training kicked in and he moved past them wordlessly to enter the closest room, the door flung wide open.

Much to his shock, his gaze landed first on Sarah Hudson, still the only survivor of the killer they couldn’t seem to catch (and her heart monitor still beeping steadily, which meant she thankfully hadn’t been harmed), then Daisy, who was sitting heavily against the wall. She had one hand pressed against her side, blood oozing through her fingers, while her other hand still tightly clutched her gun. Hastily, not an ounce of the pain that he knew from his own experience that she must’ve been feeling in her voice, she told him, “I got him. He can’t have gotten far.”

Without taking a second to question it, Fitz rushed right back out of the room and sure enough, he found a blood trail that he’d previously missed on the tiled floor of the hallway.

Fitz dashed down the halls, pushing his way past startled doctors and scared patients, following the trail of blood until he reached a set of doors labeled ‘emergency exit’. He pushed his way through them, right out into the humid night air, the darkness broken up by a light mounted above the exit.

However, there was only a tiny puddle of blood on the pavement below his feet, not a single drop more leading in whatever direction the shooter could’ve gone, and a scan of the surrounding area told him what he’d already feared.

There was no one outside but him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	11. Chapter 11

“Any luck?” Jemma asked as she entered Sarah’s hospital room, juggling two paper cups of tea as she shut the door behind firmly her.

Fitz, who was perched on a chair beside Sarah’s bed, sighed and accepted one of the cups from Jemma, taking a sip of the rapidly cooling tea from the cafeteria downstairs. “No, ‘course not. May seems to think Guiyera’s gone underground. Makes sense, though, since no one’s seen him since the shooting.”

After the incident at the hospital some weeks ago now, it hadn’t taken long for just about everyone involved with the case to realize that little Sarah Hudson must’ve been the witness they were in a desperate need of – why else would a gunman have been sent to silence her permanently? Whoever was behind this whole horrible string of murders must’ve gotten tired of waiting for her to simply die of her wounds and had decided to take the matter into their own hands.

Despite that, there was only one other bit of good news, which came from the results of the shooter’s blood test; there’d been a hit in the database, coming back to a man with a street name of “Guiyera”, who had a pretty lengthy criminal record, including work as a gun-for-hire. However, he’d been strangely inactive for the past few years, appearing to all-but disappear off the face of the earth.

“Can’t be too careful though,” Fitz added, watching as Jemma pulled up an empty chair beside him. “Something tells me he isn’t the one in charge – or even the only one willing to sneak a gun into a hospital and shoot a defenseless little girl.”

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so; Coulson had assigned Sarah a twenty-four hour police guard, which both Fitz and Daisy had found themselves placed on, given their injuries.

Really, they both should’ve been taken off active-duty for the time being, but they’d insisted until blue in the face that they not be taken off of the case completely. Coulson had only eventually given in because the station was already short-handed due to their manhunt, but it was something, at least.

“I’m sure that you’re right,” Jemma sighed, frowning worriedly as she gazed at Sarah for a long moment. “Fortunately, she’s got you, Daisy, and Bobbi to watch over her.”

Usually, the guard was on a rotation, and that night, it was Fitz who was left in the room with Sarah, while Daisy and Bobbi watched the door from outside in the hall. Of course, with nothing to do but sit there, he’d been positively bored before Jemma stopped by, as she tended to do every once and awhile whenever she found herself with a break.

“Hopefully it’ll be enough.” Fitz took another couple of sips from his cup before setting it aside. “Alright, I know you’re itching to get at my arm, so go right ahead.”

Jemma shot him a slightly guilty smile, setting her own cup down as she rose from her seat. “Thank you,” she murmured, crossing the scant space between them to gently take Fitz’s arm in her hands, slowly stretching it out to check his motor function. Her cool fingers slid along his palm as she moved his arm this way and that way, and he had to hold back a shudder at the feel of her skin against his.

They hadn’t talked about the almost, not-quite-a-kiss since it had happened, even though he was positively dying to know whether it had simply been a heat of the moment thing or something… _more_ than that. But, _of course_ , he just couldn’t work up the nerve to ask her about it. He was still too afraid to find that she might not feel the same as he did, so he continued to hold his tongue.

It didn’t look good, however, since Jemma hadn’t bothered to bring it up either. In fact, things had all-but gone back to normal between them, and it left Fitz questioning whether the moment had even really happened – or it would have, if not for the heavy tension that seemed to hang between them at all times now. And, of course, whenever she got too close, she suddenly seemed unable to meet his eyes.

Much like now, in fact, as Jemma fluttered her fingers over the collar of his shirt, peeking at the healing bullet wound on his shoulder much too quickly to actually get a good luck at it, quickly stepping back and clearing her throat as she looked anywhere but at him. “Seems alright to me. Have you noticed any unusual aches or pains lately?”

“Um…” He blinked a couple of times, forcing himself to focus on the question, rather than allowing his thoughts to drift back to the moment that their lips had just barely brushed, to the feel of her breath on his cheek and the warmth radiating from her skin. “It…um…it aches a bit when I’ve been sitting still for too long, but that’s normal I think.”

“Yes,” Jemma murmured, though she frowned in concern, her gaze darting briefly to the clock on the wall. “I have to get back, but you should ask Daisy or Bobbi to take over for a moment, go stretch your legs a bit.”

“Will do,” Fitz assured her, rising from his seat and stretching a bit, sighing in relief. They both were heading for the door when they heard the strangest sound.

“Hello?”

The tiny, faint voice had come from behind them…where Sarah lay in her hospital bed.

Whirling around so quickly that he nearly slipped on the polished linoleum, Fitz found that against all odds, Sarah had not only survived her brutal attack, but had _woken up_. In fact, she was staring back at them with wide, confused eyes, and he was so utterly shocked that it took a moment for him to remember what he was supposed to do next.

Then, in a flurry of activity, Jemma darted forward to Sarah’s side as Fitz rushed out of the room and burst into the hall, calling frantically, “Hey, we need some doctors in here! She’s awake! She’s _awake_!”

Fitz and a startled Daisy and Bobbi were, of course, pushed out of the way as doctors hurried to join Jemma in checking Sarah over. Eventually, however, they were informed that she was indeed stable, and they were even let back in to question her after a bit (though with strict instructions to keep it _short_ ).

While he and Bobbi stood on either side of Sarah’s bed, Daisy hung back and watched the door; just because Sarah was awake, it didn’t mean she was out of danger.

It meant that she was in even _more_ danger.

“These men…” Sarah was telling them, tears springing up in her big brown eyes and spilling over onto her chubby little cheeks, “they came into our house and…I ran away and hid, but they came after me, after us and…”

Fitz pressed his lips tight together, forcing back the bile burning its way up his throat. It was true then, what they’d suspected all this time – there truly were multiple assailants working together to commit the horrendous crimes.

Though Bobbi didn’t look much better than he felt, she still managed to ask evenly, “Did you see anything that could help us identify any of the men? Were they wearing masks?”

Sarah weakly shook her head. “No.” Fitz and Bobbi shared a grim look at that – whoever the men were, they’d obviously be counting on there being no survivors, then. “A man…he had dark hair and a beard and…and dark eyes with a…a smile that…it was scary.” Her little body shook with a shudder, and Fitz’s heart went out to her. He’d always wanted to catch whoever was behind the savage attacks, but seeing how scared Sarah was, it only served to harden his resolve.

Daisy, from her post by the door, scoffed and commented dryly, clearly trying to ease the tension a bit, “Sounds like my ex.”

A bit surprised that she’d mention Grant Ward so casually, Fitz threw a worried glance in Daisy’s direction. However, despite bringing the subject up for the first time in ages, Daisy seemed composed enough, so Fitz didn’t ask her about it – _yet_.

He did have the perfect opportunity to just that, though, when they were shortly replaced in Sarah’s room by a sketch artist, in hopes that the memory of the “scary man” was fresh enough to get a good image of him down on paper.

So, while Bobbi went to get a cup of coffee and check in with Coulson, Fitz leaned up against the wall across from Sarah’s room beside Daisy and asked pointedly, “Wanna talk about it?”

Daisy shot him a sideways glance. “About what?”

Fitz rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Daisy, come on. You brought up _Ward_ and expected me not to say anything about it?”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? She’s talking about the boogey man – isn’t Ward’s the first face that pops into _your_ head?”

He grimaced, shifting uncomfortably as the memory of Ward’s face, twisted with some kind of inhuman rage, popped up in his mind’s eye.  “Yeah,” he answered after a moment, his voice low and tight, “I guess.”

At that moment, the door to Sarah’s room reopened, and he and Daisy quickly stepped forward. “Did you get anything?” Daisy asked hopefully.

The sketch artist nodded, raising her eyebrows at them. “Pretty creepy too – and I’ve done hundreds of these things.” With that, she carefully handed over the sketch for them to examine.

There was a beat of silence, then Daisy cleared her throat and commented a bit less amusedly, “Looks like my ex too.”

-

Early the next morning, Fitz woke to find the light from the rising sun slanting through the blinds onto the laundry-covered floor of his bedroom. The last vestiges of a dream were fading rapidly from his mind, but he remembered enough to know that it’d been about Jemma – if he squeezed his eyes shut tightly enough, he could still remember standing on the porch of a little cottage, watching Jemma as early morning light fell across her beautiful, smiling face.

It had felt so _real_ that he almost half-expected to find her beside him.

But, of course, with a single glance, all he found were wrinkled, empty sheets. He was struck nearly breathless, a warm, almost tingly feeling blossoming in his chest, paired with an ache so strong it made him almost physically sick with longing. It was the unique blend of emotion that he’d only ever associated with Jemma, and the inexplicably strong feelings that he had for her.

Even though Fitz didn’t believe in such things, a part of him had to believe that the dream was some sort of sign; it was the first night that he’d slept without falling into one of the terror-stricken nightmares that he’d been having since the Hudson murders in so long. Jemma had somehow, always been able to ease his fears and his nightmares, to bring a light to his world that he’d been in desperate need of to chase away the darkness that now seemed to constantly fill it.

And with a flash of determination, he decided abruptly to hell with fear – Jemma had leaned in to kiss him, he could no longer deny what he knew that he’d seen, and if he was just _honest with her_ , he stood to potentially gain everything that he’d ever needed.

With that in mind, Fitz scrabbled for his phone on his bedside table, squinting through still-tired eyes as he scrolled through his contacts for _“Jemma”_. His thumb was just hovering over her name as a knock on his front door echoed all the way through to his bedroom.

The first thought he had was that, maybe Jemma had somehow had the same idea as him, had come to the same conclusion and decided to take a chance. As he hurriedly stumbled his way out of bed and padded through his flat, Fitz couldn’t help but be hopeful.

But, when he opened the door, it was to find Daisy waiting on the other side, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “Get dressed,” she said simply, not bothering with a greeting.

“Why?” Fitz asked, utterly bewildered, but a moment later he sobered and went on, “What happened?”

“Nothing yet.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted anxiously. “We’re going to find Ward and question him.”

And somehow, though the _how_ was truly beyond him, Daisy managed to convince him that this was at _all_ a good idea, because it wasn’t long before Fitz found himself just about at _Grant Ward’s house_ , moments away from asking him if he’d picked up any homicidal hobbies since they’d last crossed paths.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked Daisy, yet again.

Her only response was the grim reminder, “You know what he’s capable of, Fitz.”

She parked the car down the street a bit from Ward’s expensive (and expensively decorated) house; even though she’d taken her own car, they couldn’t be too cautious in taking care not to tip Ward off.

“Maybe we should call May or someone for backup,” Fitz suggested, trying one last time to convince her to reconsider, or at least to wait until they had a significant number on their side.

Daisy rolled her eyes at him, breaking her serious expression for the first time since she’d showed up on his doorstep not even a half hour ago. “It’ll be fine, Fitz; I know how to handle Ward.”

However, as she was climbing out of the car, Fitz sent May a quick text anyway using the number she’d given him all that time ago, letting her know where they were and what they were doing – just in case. For a brief moment, he felt a surge of gratitude that she’d thought to give him her number at all; May was the best one to have as backup, after all.

Once he’d sent the text, Fitz hastily climbed out of the car and hurried to catch up with Daisy, who was already halfway down the street. It was only a handful of minutes more before they were climbing the front steps, and Fitz had to squeeze his hands into fists and clench his jaw tightly shut as memories of being at this house hovered at the edges of his mind like ghosts of a past he’d much rather forget.

Seeming to also wanting to get this over with before the memories could overwhelm her, Daisy hastily reached up to rap sharply on Ward’s door. At the same time, they both moved to have their hands hovering over their concealed guns, already at the ready before the door had even opened to reveal Grant Ward himself. It was the first time that Fitz had seen him in _years_ , and he couldn’t quite fight the shudder that passed through his body.

“Daisy? Fitz?” He glanced between them in delighted surprise, grinning widely and displaying his perfectly white smile, as though none of what had happened between them had ever occurred. “How have you been? God, it’s been _ages_ , hasn’t it?”

Warily, Daisy shifted on the front step, subtly moving away from Ward. Obviously trying to keep her tone firm and professional, she stated, “We want to ask you a few questions, Ward.”

“Of course.” Ward immediately stepped back, beckoning them inside his house. Fitz and Daisy shared a look, but they didn’t want to get his guard up before they could even ask him a single question, so they ultimately followed him inside. “Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to his leather sofa.

“No thanks,” Fitz replied stiffly, taking a position by Daisy as close to the door as possible.

Not wasting another moment, Daisy asked, “Do you have anything to do with the attack on the Hudson family?”

Ward’s expression was the perfect picture of injured insult, and he told her softly, “Daisy, you _know_ I’d never do such a thing.”

“I didn’t ask what _I_ knew,” she snapped at him sharply. “Just answer the question, Ward.”

A slow smile began to creep across Ward’s face, and Fitz felt an icy chill go up his spine. With a sigh, Ward reminded Daisy, “I promised never to lie to you.” And then suddenly, he was pulling out a gun from the back of his waistband, and Fitz and Daisy quickly drew their own guns.

“Put the gun down!” Fitz ordered, leveling his gun to aim for Ward’s right arm, hoping to incapacitate him enough that they could take him in – given the line of Ward’s gun, though, he obviously wasn’t hoping for the same thing when it came to Fitz.

“Put it _down_ , Ward!” Daisy shouted when Ward refused to budge, and just as Fitz was pressing down on the trigger, gunfire exploded from somewhere to his right.

Instinctively, he and Daisy dove for cover behind the nearest solid surface, which happened to be Ward’s nice leather couch – but not before Fitz felt his thigh light on fire.

However, he shoved down the pain and any thought to its cause, concentrating instead on returning the gunfire that seemed to come from all sides. Of course, the repetitive sound of the bullets thudding into the couch and steadily tearing through the material, was also a pretty big focus at the moment.

In the back of his mind, all Fitz could think was that he couldn’t _believe_ that he was going to die without ever getting to _really_ kiss Jemma Simmons. Ridiculous as the thought was, in that moment he decided that if he were to ever somehow find himself on the receiving end of one do-over in his life, he wouldn’t even have to think about it – he’d go back to that day in her flat, and he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d just wrap his arms around her and find her pretty pink lips with his and just spend the whole damn day – the rest of his whole _life_ – just kissing her like he’d dreamed of for so long.

“I’m out of ammo,” Daisy hissed to him, alarm and a keen remorse dripping from the words. “Fitz…”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, swearing under his breath when his gun clicked, empty of bullets as well. He didn’t want Daisy to spend her last few moments blaming herself and apologizing unnecessarily.

 _This is it_ , he thought, _we’re going to die_.

Inhaling a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut, Fitz tensed and waited for the end, however it would come –

Above the gunfire, though, the crash of the front door bursting open resounded through the house just then. Fitz couldn’t see what was happening from his place behind the now shredded but still standing couch, but he _could_ hear the shots and the grunts of pain and the sound of bodies hitting the ground _hard_.

Then, as quickly as the sounds had started, they stopped, and an eerie silence descended around them.

A moment later, May appeared from around the corner of the couch, handing on her hips, and asked plainly, “Whose stupid idea was it this time?”

 There was a beat, then Fitz started laughing in pure _relief_ , and after a moment, Daisy joined in.

Somehow, after all the pain and the struggle and the death and the fear, it was all really and truly over.

 _Finally_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the Epilogue for a hand to hold (take me home)! I’ve loved sharing this fic with you all so much. To see how much other people enjoyed it when I’d never intended on posting this fic, thinking that I was the only one who’d be interested in it has been so wonderful, truly! Thank you to everyone that has liked, commented, reblogged, given kudos, etc, you’re all so fantastic!!

_“Today’s top story: Grant Ward, brother of Senator Christian Ward and former police officer, is officially being charged today in connection with the string of murders committed over the past several months, apparently dating back to even before the slaying of a local family, one of whom is the only known survivor of the attacks. He, along with several other members of the gang now said to be known as ‘HYDRA’ are due to appear in court next year, though there’s still no word on the mysterious connection of several prominent politicians, businessmen, and police officers said to be involved –”_

Fitz turned the volume of the news broadcast down low, setting the remote down beside him on the couch with a world-weary sigh. Ward’s arrest hadn’t been the victory that Fitz had been expecting all these months for it to be, and it did nothing to erase the sick feeling that still swirled in his gut from time to time, nor would it bring back Sarah’s family, or any of the other lives that he’d so carelessly taken.

According to Daisy, the station had been abuzz with activity for the past few weeks since Ward’s initial arrest, and that Fitz was probably lucky that he hadn’t been there during the interviews – she’d had to be pulled out of Ward’s interrogation by Coulson himself before she could pass her _own_ sentence on him.

The question that seemed to be on everyone’s minds, though, was _why_? Ward still hadn’t spoken a word, but from what they’d managed to gather from his accomplices, HYDRA was supposedly some sort of cult, rather than a gang as they’d previously assumed. And the strangest part? They apparently worshipped some demon-god named Alveus that Ward had apparently claimed to be in contact with.

Demon worship had never seemed like Ward’s particular brand of crazy, but Fitz supposed that everyone was hiding something.

However, as more and more of Ward’s accomplices had systematically been identified, taken in, and questioned, the whole situation had only continued to get worse; with a few choice looks from May, a handful of Ward’s lackeys had begun to spin the tale of a HYDRA that had been running in their town for _years_. According to them, it had started with a couple of powerful men who sought to use the criminal underground to their advantage, and had their hands in drugs, prostitutes, money laundering, and several other serious crimes.

It hadn’t been proven yet, of course, but already the von Strucker and Malick families had been implicated, along with Daniel Whitehall, Alexander Pierce, and Lieutenant Garrett. Which, Fitz couldn’t help but think, made sense – after all, he’d been the one to train Ward, had taken him in when he was a rookie and taught him everything that he needed to know to survive. And, it also explained why information on the case had been mysteriously disappearing from the station.

Ward, though, seemed to have taken the HYDRA ideal just a step too far with his demon-worshipping cult, which coincidentally began its killings right after he’d been fired by Coulson. The suspicious timeline, however, begged the question – had Ward actually gone off the deep end, or had the entire thing just been a cleverly constructed ruse to get back at Coulson and the station as a whole with a seemingly unsolvable case, designed to discredit them? With Ward refusing to speak, it made it almost impossible to answer definitely, though Fitz was sure that they all had their assumptions.

The only good thing that had come out of the recent weeks was the news that Sarah Hudson was making a full recovery, and would soon be completely healed – physically, at least. According to Daisy, she’d been seeing a child psychologist at the hospital, and they’d already been making some progress in helping Sarah to come to terms with the horrible event and the loss of her family.

Fitz had been by to see her once, on his last day in the hospital himself after the gunshot wound in his thigh had been stitched up, and she’d seemed to be in pretty good spirits, given the situation. Daisy, though, made regular visits in to see her, confessing to Fitz once that she wanted to make sure that Sarah still had someone that cared about her around. Fitz felt pretty safe in assuming that once Sarah went into the foster care system upon her release from the hospital, Daisy would be keeping a close eye on her.

Despite all of that, the situation was still overwhelmingly and understandably negative and, as the full extent of HYDRA and its crimes continued to be revealed more and more with each passing day, it seemed to be the only thing that the news reported on anymore. It didn’t help that their viewers were shamelessly eating up every single new detail, which only made the news stations more desperate for new information to report on – and, as such, Fitz had been unable to escape it since the whole damn thing had started.

Fortunately, at that moment, there was a knock on the door of his flat. Grateful for the unexpected distraction, Fitz turned the TV off, carefully rising and limping over to open the door on his still-aching leg. When he found a frazzled-looking Jemma on the other side, he gave into his surprise at her sudden appearance for a beat, then stepped back and asked, “Would you like to come in?” She nodded wordlessly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she followed him to the kitchen. “I’ve already got a pot of tea brewing.”

Once they’d sat down at the table with cups of tea, an uncomfortable silence fell heavily between them, and it stretched on until Fitz came to the realization that she wasn’t going to say anything to break it.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since that day I was in the hospital for my leg,” he commented, a bit glad for the opportunity to do so, since thoughts of the encounter had been plaguing him in the past few weeks just as much as the Ward case had been.

The visit had been brief; she’d come in while he was still hopped up on pain meds after surgery, and she’d just stood beside his bed, running her fingers through his hair and looking at him with tears in her eyes. Since that moment, though, she’d become strangely MIA, and even Daisy had had trouble getting a hold of their mutual friend.

Fitz had been worried and rather confused by the whole thing, but he hadn’t wanted to push, or to just randomly show up on her doorstep. Instead, he’d forced himself to wait until she made the first move, until she reached out to him, always abundantly aware of the subtle but important shift in their relationship since the almost-kiss at the hospital all those weeks ago now; he didn’t want to make the wrong move and subsequently ruin the friendship that they’d spent the past few months building up. After everything that had happened lately, he just couldn’t afford to lose her, couldn’t even begin imagine getting through all of this without her presence in his life.

Finally, after another rather lengthy stretch of silence, Jemma breathed deeply, then murmured, “I’m sorry.” It was the first time that he’d heard her voice in weeks, and even though he’s resolved to give her the space that she obviously needed, he’d _missed_ her, and the sound of her voice washed over him like soothing summer rain after a violent thunderstorm, the balm that he’d been missing in the tumultuous days since he and Daisy had gone to confront Ward. “I’ve been…busy.”

It was unbelievably obvious that she was lying – he’d learned over the months of their friendship that she wasn’t great with deception to begin with, and she didn’t really seem to be trying much to improve on it at the moment.

Trying to ease the sudden tension that was filling the room, Fitz cleared his throat, then joked, “Y’know, I can’t believe that I’d never been shot before in my life, only to find myself on the receiving end of _two_ gunshot wounds in as many months.” When Jemma merely winced, he decided that what he really couldn’t believe was that he couldn’t seem to stop himself from _stupid_ jokes about getting shot. “I’m sorry, that was dumb. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

With her eyes planted firmly on her tea, Jemma took another deep, shuddering breath, then launched into what was clearly a planned speech. “Fitz, I care about you so much that it…it scares me, but I can’t…I can’t _do_ this, I can’t be with you if I have to wonder every night if _this_ is going to be the one that finally takes you away from me. I can’t continue to be distracted at work, always wondering if your…your body will be on the next gurney I see. I just can’t _do_ _it_ , so even though it…it _kills_ me that I’ll never be able to figure out what’s between us, I think…I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

At first, Fitz was stunned, rendered completely _speechless_. At that particular moment, he couldn’t have responded to the declaration that came straight from his dreams _and_ his nightmares even if his life had depended on it.

It was only when Jemma peered nervously up at him with tears rolling steadily down her cheeks, the sight as effective as a punch to the stomach, that he managed to find his words.

“You know, I received a very… _strongly-worded_ phone call from my mum the other day. She told me that if it was really important to me, I could continue to put my life on the line, but…if being a police officer wasn’t what I really wanted to do, it’d be a damn shame if I lost my life over it.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he admitted, “I also had a conversation with the chief, and after a lot of hard thinking…well, I’ve decided what’s best is for me to leave the precinct and go back to school for engineering.”

For a lengthy moment, Jemma merely gaped at him, at a clear loss for words. But, then she let out a teary, disbelieving laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth as her shoulders sagged from the release of a tension that she seemed to have been carrying for far too long. He almost wanted to say something more then, to try and return the favor, to tell Jemma just how much _he_ cared for _her_ , but he figured that she deserved some time to process his admission.

Plus, Fitz also kind of figured that he’d been a bit… _obvious_ about his feelings for her, despite his best attempts to keep them under wraps, and so it probably went without saying.

However, it was only a few minutes more that suddenly, before Fitz could even register that she’d moved, Jemma had reached across the table and dragged him to her by the front of his shirt, and he didn’t even have time to gasp in shock before her lips were _finally_ pressed against his.

Fitz gave a pleasantly startled moan against her mouth, hastily reaching out to catch himself on the table, lest he stumble and knock their tea over (though, honestly, even _that_ likely couldn’t stop him from kissing Jemma now that he’d gotten his first _real_ taste of her – truthfully, he was almost worried that _nothing_ could stop him from kissing her, not even the end of world). Jemma’s hand shifted to grip his shoulder, sliding along the curve of it to cup the back of his neck and bury her fingers in his short curls.

When he parted his lips and gently tugged her bottom lip between them, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin, and she honest to god _whimpered_ , Fitz had to wonder if he actually _had_ died that day in Ward’s house and this was what was considered heaven.

Hell, even if it was, who cared? He was kissing _Jemma Simmons_ – that was worth dying over, for _sure_.

When they eventually parted and their heavy, labored breaths filled the silence, Jemma nodded slyly at his injured leg and said pointedly, “You should probably have a doctor look at how that’s healing, just to be on the safe side.” Then, a coy smile curved her lips as she added, “But, I’ll have to ask you to remove your pants in order for me to do so.”

As a wide grin spread across Fitz’s face, he couldn’t help but remember all the times that his father had insisted that cops got all the women. Now, he was quite sure that his father had gotten it wrong – clearly, engineering was what got the ladies all hot and bothered.

 _He’d always known that he was in the wrong profession_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


	13. Additional Scene - Jemma's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops so this fic wasn't completely over yet, it seems that I had one last thing to add - this is Jemma's POV of finding out that Fitz is in the hospital, set between Chapter Eleven and the Epilogue.

It was a simple, average, ordinary day, one where Jemma had expected to get some household chores done, see Fitz, Daisy, and Trip later for dinner, and then go to the hospital for her shift that night. Even with everything that had been happening as of late, she _never_ expected or planned on the day going so horribly wrong.

In fact, when she got the call, Jemma was in the middle of doing some laundry – something that she was in desperate need of, given the sad state of the remaining clothes in her closet, along with her overflowing hamper. The sound of her phone ringing echoing through her flat had her abandoning the half-filled washing machine to return to the kitchen table, where she’d left the phone. A quick look at the screen revealed the name ‘Daisy’, and she couldn’t quite help the face that she made in response, wondering what Daisy’s latest attempt to get her to admit to the feelings her friend ‘just _knew_ ’ that she had for Fitz would include.

Regardless of the fact that the following conversation would no doubt have her rolling her eyes soon enough, Jemma answered the call and greeted her friend pleasantly, “Hello, Daisy. How are you today?”

Daisy sounded almost out of breath on the other line, and it caused Jemma’s smile to quickly drop into a concerned frown. “ _Jemma, I… Well, okay, don’t freak out, alright?_ ”

Contrary to Daisy’s plea, Jemma could already feel her heartbeat picking up speed in her chest, leaving her own breath coming with a bit more difficulty. “What is it?” she managed to get out around her sudden panic, though her tone wasn’t more than a whisper. She didn’t bother to agree to Daisy’s request – she’d ‘freak out’ if it was required, thank you very much.

“ _Um…well, er…Fitz is kind of in the hospital_.”

Feeling very faint all of a sudden, Jemma scrabbled for the nearest chair, yanking it out from the table so that she could sink down into it. Her breath was coming even more quickly now, her lungs seemingly refusing to work correctly, and was it hot in there? “Oh my god.”

“ _But like, he’s fine! Just a little bullet wound, and he’s in surgery now, and I’ve talked to the doctor, and he said that all they need to do is get the bullet out and sew him back up and he’ll be his annoying Fitzy self in no time!_ ”

Daisy’s attempt at reassuring words fell horribly flat, and Jemma lifted a hand to the center of her chest, trying to calm the racing heart beneath her palm without success. “Where?”

“ _Oh, well, it’s in his thigh. He’s probably gonna bitch about crutches, if he needs them, which he probably will, but –”_

“How did this even happen? Neither of you are on duty!” Jemma’s voice rose a few octaves above normal as she cut into Daisy’s anxiety-ridden attempts at casual conversation.

“ _Um…that’s kind of…my fault. You see, turns out that the one doing all the…er…killing, was my ex-boyfriend, you know, Ward? So I kind of…well okay, I dragged Fitz over there with me to question him this morning, and it turned into a shootout, so…_ ” She released a long, slow breath, then added softly, “ _I’m sorry, Jemma_.”

“I can’t keep doing this,” Jemma mumbled, almost to herself, running a hand through her hair and shaking her head absently as tears that she refused to shed just yet began to build. It could have been so much worse – it had been his leg this time, but it just as easily could have been his heart, or his head, or somewhere else that would have resulted in a much worse call from Daisy. “I…I’m heading over now, okay?”

“ _Okay. I have to get back to the station to debrief with Coulson, so it’ll be good for him to have someone with him_.”

“Alright.” Jemma hesitated, then added, “Thank you, Daisy. For…letting me know.”

“ _Of course._ ”

After hanging up with Daisy, Jemma threw on a pair of shoes, grabbed her purse, and made it to the hospital in record time, even though she knew it was ridiculous to do so; she knew from experience that Fitz would still be in surgery for some time. She was right, of course, and ended up spending a fair bit of time in the waiting room, though she was easily able to get updates from the nurses. She wasn’t close friends with any of them, just acquaintances, but they _did_ know that Fitz was her friend, had seen him around the hospital or heard her mention him in passing enough.

However, from the looks that they all were shooting at Jemma as they disappeared back through the double doors of the emergency room, she had the strangest feeling that they knew far more about her feelings for Fitz than she’d ever admitted to aloud.

Left with an abundance of free time to do nothing but sit and think, Jemma couldn’t help but wonder if the decision that she’d made in the weeks since she and Fitz had just about kissed in his hospital room, the decision to _finally_ take a chance and go forward with their relationship, was the best one. She knew that she cared about him more than she’d ever cared about anyone, and she knew that her heart ached when she was away from him and that she worried about him out there in the line of fire, but…

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? She had to constantly worry about what could happen to him, what horrible things out there could harm him, or so much worse, every single night. If she went through with it, how many more calls like this would she be destined to receive?

Jemma didn’t know if she could handle even _one_ more.

When her colleague Dr. Campbell, who had been seeing to Fitz, finally came out to tell her that he was awake and that she could go see him, Jemma wasn’t any closer to puzzling things out. However, as she stepped through the door and came upon the sight of Fitz lying there helplessly in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and heart monitor, her chest tightened to the point of pain and she knew her answer.

“Je-Jem-Je…” he mumbled, still woozy and quite out of it from the surgery and the pain meds.

“Shhh,” Jemma murmured, crossing the room with quickened strides to stand at his side. “Shhh, Fitz.” His eyes were wide and trusting and so, so _blue_ as he stared up at her, and Jemma felt her heart breaking apart in her chest. The tears that she’d refused to shed before were back with a vengeance, pricking at the backs of her eyes and begging to be released, but she pressed her lips tight together and forced herself to hold it in for him. He didn’t need the first thing that he saw after having a bullet removed from his leg to be her sobbing over him.

Lovingly, she brushed her fingers through his curls, and the tears very nearly burst free anyway when she found that they were just as soft as they looked; though she’d never admit it out loud, she’d always wondered about that. Fitz’s eyes fell shut a bit, a little smile playing on his lips as he clearly enjoyed the soothing gesture, and the thought popped abruptly into her head that he almost looked like a cat being petted.

The analogy brought a small smile of her own to her lips, but it quickly faded as she remembered that this would likely be the only time that she’d ever get to experience this quiet intimacy with him. It was by her own choice, but _god_ , it was the hardest choice that she’d ever had to and likely would ever make.

“ _Jemma_ ,” he sighed, but it was faint, and she figured that he was likely falling back into the clutches of sleep, which was good, because he would certainly need his rest to begin healing from his injury. He turned his head, and lazily, almost absently, nuzzled his face against her hand, and Jemma’s free hand flew up to her mouth to cover the broken sob that she couldn’t quite hold back. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, pressing her fingers tight to her skin.

This was everything that she’d wanted for what felt like so long now, and it was such a cruel tease to suddenly have it, only for it to be taken from her. It just wasn’t _fair_ that the world seemed bound and determined to keep them apart, when all Jemma wanted was to be closer to him, to never be parted from him.

After a long moment, when Jemma felt reasonably sure that she wouldn’t break apart at the slightest provocation, she reopened her eyes and found that he certainly was asleep, his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly to let out a soft rush of breath.

“Oh _Fitz_ ,” she whispered, giving a little shake of her head. “I want to be angry with you, but you make it damn near impossible sometimes.” Then, despite knowing that he couldn’t hear her, she quickly tacked on, “About making me care so much about you, not about getting shot – I am _so_ angry with you about that.” In the hall outside, Jemma could hear Daisy and Trip’s familiar albeit quiet voices growing closer and closer, so she leaned down and pressed a soft but lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

With a brush of her fingers against his cheek, she forced herself to leave his side and then the room itself, nearly stumbling right into Daisy on her way out the door. “Whoa, Jemma, hey, what’s the rush?”

“My shift’s about to start,” Jemma explained, darting a glance back at the clock in Fitz’s room to find that it was actually true. _Thank god for small miracles_.

Daisy frowned at her, her narrowed eyes taking Jemma in carefully, almost suspiciously. Slowly, though, she said, “Okay…I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Yes, alright,” Jemma agreed breezily, forcing the familiar faux-cheerful tone that she’d perfected long ago in her career and not quite meeting Daisy’s intense gaze. She knew that Daisy was going to be at Fitz’s bedside until the hospital released him or they dragged her away, and as much as Jemma knew that she’d rather be right there beside her than anywhere else, it would only make things more painful in the long run. As difficult as it was going to be, she was going to have to force herself to stay away.

Hopefully, maybe, if she was lucky, it would ease the ache of separating herself completely from Fitz. Truthfully, though, she was far from naïve enough to believe that it actually would at all.

Without much else said between the three of them, Jemma thankfully managed to slip away, and found herself in one of the restrooms nearby. She had never been as staggeringly grateful before that they had single-stall restrooms as she was when she locked the door behind her, sunk into a crouch against it, buried her face in her hands, and finally released the tears that had been aching to be shed since she’d first gotten the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on tumblr - I'm theartofbeinganerd over there as well!


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